


Because The Night (Or, Two Homeless Buskers)

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [17]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 20th Century, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Hippies, F/M, Hansel and Gretel Elements, Hippies, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jack and Jill, Other characters from Poldark will be added, Ross and Dem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 75
Words: 186,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: Knocking around Europe until their life on the streets became too difficult, Ross and Dem find their own Eden in Positano, Italy. Many of the locals are wary of these wayward strangers, unscrupulous developers covet the land they found, their romantic looks and vagabond life fascinate the moneyed vacationers and aristocracy that party in the castles and grand houses nearby. Everyone wants a piece of what they've got but they just want a quiet life, away from their demons, and each other's love.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Dwight Enys/Caroline Penvenen
Series: 33 and 1/3 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 827
Kudos: 70





	1. Blue Stars

**Author's Note:**

> A different Ross and Dem in different circumstances, hippies but also young together. Ross is eighteen, Dem, seventeen. A lot of the 1965 film "Witch of Positano" is stuffed in here...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A room of one's own

The morning light shone across their bed. Garrick, their dog, lay curled on the floor nearby. Dem was slow to wake. Ross turned to watch her sleeping, still in awe that a girl as pretty as Dem had agreed to be his. They fit well together in their narrow bed. They were slender, if one chose to be polite. Half starved if one preferred to be unkind. Their ribs did show, the bones of their hips were a bit pronounced. They were wiry. Strong. They hauled water up the hills, in buckets, for there was no plumbing. They tended a small garden, they kept a cow and chickens, they looked after their horse and a cat and a dog. They danced in the woods. He played his guitar. She sang like an angel. He joined her in harmony. They drew pictures and dreamed. They made love. They were running out of money again but that could be pushed aside in these warm weather days. He brushed back a stray curl of her hair with his left hand. They each had a blue star, small and primitive, though carefully done with sharp points, proper five pointed stars, tattooed on their ring fingers. Life on the streets of Paris was rough. They both wore their wedding rings strung on a chain, under their clothes to avoid being robbed. Ross felt safe up here, away from the rest of the world. Maybe they might wear them on their fingers now. They got tattooed in prison by another vagrant in the cell. If they ever did lose their rings they were still bound...  
Dem did not open her eyes but she smiled and said, "Good morning, Ross..." By way of an answer, Ross kissed her mouth, gently. "Good morning, my love." Her eyes opened, bright and alert. "Tea?" she asked. "Pancakes?" asked Ross as they smiled into each other eyes. They nodded their agreement. They left the bed, pulled on their clothes. They'd not leave their homestead today so underwear was ignored. Ross pushed aside the drapery that hid the space that held their bed, a deep blue velvet curtain they had found in an abandoned theater that still had gilt fringe decorating its edge. Garrick followed, wagging his tail good morning and Ross gave him a firm love tap on the dog's flank. "Morning, Garrick!" said Dem looking at him with affection as she walked the few scant steps to the area of the house that was their kitchen to brew tea. Ross walked past to the little addition they'd built on to start up the stove. This was their cook stove and parlor both. Come winter they would rely on it for warmth too. This place had been a hunting lodge, long abandoned but sound, a strong roof with no leaks. Some furnishings were rotted away but they were able to use a grand wooden bed frame as a sofa. With the help of their horse, Seamus, they managed to get a small mattress, pieces of wood and a metal bed frame, dismantled to lay tied together in straight pieces, and up the steep hills and treacherous cliffs. It was a single sized bed, but they were thin and slept close so it served for two. The stove was made of good iron and still worked. They had a full wall of sturdy shelves and two wonderfully large wardrobes that must have been terrible trouble to bring up through the valley but were clean and dry. One held clothes, one held provisions. Dem retrieved the flour box and began to measure out flour, salt and baking powder into a bowl, measured tea leaves into their teapot. Ross stepped into a pair of ragged looking plimsolls and went to get water and eggs. The hens gave way, the pail was filled and, having given them to Dem, he went to milk their cow. She mooed her good morning and gave them a pail of milk. He kissed her forehead and led her out of the grounds to the meadow to munch her fill of grass. He returned to kiss Seamus' forehead as well and let him out too. Ross kicked off his shoes and brought the milk to Dem who relied on the eggs as well as the cream to make the pancakes taste richer and the milk itself to thin the batter to the right consistancy. Ross rinsed his hands and set the table. It looked quite grand for the dishes and cutlery left in this small place had clearly been owned by someone of means. Dem brought their breakfast to the table and gave Garrick meat saved over from their dinner from the night before. They ate their breakfast, hot pancakes spread with honey, and talked of the dreams they'd had in the night, the chores that needed doing. Their cat, Tabitha Bethia, sated from mousing, wound herself around their feet in greeting and gave a friendly nudge to Garrick who bore it with the good grace of a friend. The Poldarks were content. They had a sound roof over their heads, the land to themselves, honest work, each day, tending the house, the garden and their animals. They had art and music and each other. Life was good.  
Dem weeded the garden in a wide brimed, straw hat. Ross was nailing more boards to the outside of their extension. They needed it to be strong for the cold weather. They took a break in their labors to have a drink of lemonade. They shared the bottle of it between two cups. It was not cold but it was sweet and tart and very welcome after toiling in the hot sun. They would bathe soon, they needed it. Dem removed her hat. Ross smiled to see Dem left a smudge of soil on her brow as she worked in the little garden. Dem smiled to see Ross so satisfied from completing his chores. She downed the last of her lemonade and started to wind the record player. There was a tin of phonograph needles and an old fashioned record player in one of the wardrobes, still in working order. A warbly sounding love song serenaded them and Dem began to dance as Ross sat back with his lemonade, tapping his foot in time, and admired her. He drank it down slowly as he considered the idea that they might as well get as grubby as they could before they bathed themselves clean and went to the swimming hole. She danced, as graceful as any ballerina about the yard and Ross set down his cup with a look of mischief as the song finished.  
"I shall wind it up once more..." she said walking towards the crate the gramophone was sitting on. Ross stood up suddenly with a wide grin and said, "Not if I catch you first!" He bound forward and Dem shrieked, zig zagging a little before they ran in earnest, both of them happy to have a chase for they both knew what catching each other up meant.

Tankard climbed up the steep cliffs for what seemed like forever. The area was virgin in that no development or villages had ever been built here. The old growth forests and perhaps even mineral rights would bring a fortune to his employer. There were limitless possibilities, timber, mining, the land was wild and the Italian government was rumored to be easy to grease with silver, easy to do a deal. His boss, Mr. Warleggan, wanted some sense of the land's character, the lay of the land, before making an offer. On every map they found it was just a blank area with no markings to delineate the woods, caves and cliffs that clearly made up the area. Rich pickings to be purchased for a song...  
He picked his way through overgrown woods and sunlit crags of rock, grateful for his boots. He made notes in a book, to list possible assets and primitive map, a general idea of the scheme of the area. He looked down, behind him. Beauty lay everywhere but one could break their neck very easily here. Extraordinary drops down cliff faces would smash a body to pieces. Beauty lay everywhere but Tankard only saw money. Deep, deep potential for money... Birds sang. Occasionally, four legged creatures of various sizes could be heard walking about. He was the intruder, he was the uninvited guest. Nature ruled here, not man. Now and again Tankard thought he heard music but shrugged off the idea as a trick of his mind. There were no people living here. The villagers around the area insisted it was haunted, dangerous. Not unreasonable for the terrain was perilous over most of the area. Many places he dare not go without better ropes to guard his climbing.  
He heard it again... music... A tinny sounding old time song, not his imagination, unmistakable now. He walked forward and looked ahead. A white wall of some kind, a structure of some sort. Impossible! There was a small house up here in the middle of this wild canyon where no one dared go. The music stopped. "I shall wind it up once more..." said a young woman's voice. "Not if I catch you first!" A man said, followed by the happy shrieks of the woman and the deep throated laugh of the man. Tankard's mouth fell open. There were people up here? Living here? They spoke English! He heard running, through trees, getting fainter. He moved on, cautious, not wanting to be seen. There was no suggestion that any structures or residences were built up here. He skirted the property. A strange pavilion, like a middle eastern palace with a domed roof. A whitewashed wall spanned a long length. He peeked around the edge of it. A small garden, neat and orderly grew nearby. A fountain bed, old and dried up had been a feature in a small courtyard in front of the building. It had a ridge of brightly glazed tiles, most still unbroken, on the inside edge. There a clearing beyond with more woods in the distance. Here, in the middle of nowhere. He saw an old gramophone with a tulip like trumpet speaker sticking out of it on a wooden crate, the old sort that had to be wound with a crank, the source of the music. He kept onward, towards the woods. He heard the woman squeal and the sort of laughter that suggested a compromising position. Stopping and starting for the sake of kissing. He crept nearer, picking through dense trees until they thinned enough to see forward but still obscure him.  
Shaggy looking, dirty looking hippies. The soles of her feet showed, grubby with dirt, her legs around him. His feet, planted firm on the ground, were also bare. Tankard frowned. The ground was more even here, a meadow lay beyond but he'd never walk about here with no shoes on. They ran about barefoot, used to doing so it seemed... They looked the sort that would be arrested as vagrants in the towns around here. The man, dark haired, hair long enough it looked, vaguely, like two women having at it from a distance. The woman had red hair and was up against the low crook of a tree, skirt pushed up and her legs about his waist, his trousers drooping half off, carrying on. An unbidden twitch at his groin as Tankard watched this man thrusting at her, up against a tree, their hungry looking kissing as he held one of her legs up around his arm and had his other arm other around her between the tree and her waist. Their faces lay close, obscured by hair, laughing and pleased with themselves. Pleased to be up here, probably poaching, squatting in this odd, Persian looking folly, built by goodness knows who in the middle of nowhere. A sudden groan as the man turned his head up to the sky, as she cried out with her head lowered, both of them moaning their end, then giggling softly, hugging each other and looking at each other as if they'd done something clever. They admired each other. Tankard could see their faces now. They were barely grown thought Tankard as he looked on, '...young, late teens, early twenties? Just kids. Two dumb kids up here...' His mouth fell open as they stepped away from the tree, both took off all of their clothes and carried them, wrapped up in her long skirt, as they walked off, naked as the day the were born.

They'd had a bit of fun and then went to bathe. There was a river and a small pool of water nearby and they left a bar of soap Dem bought at the market in one of their journeys into the town below. It was in a yellow plastic case settled in a crevice of rock and smelled of poppies. Ross led her by the hand into the river as if they had been announced at a royal ball. They took turns with the soap, scrubbing suds all over themselves as the current of the river carried the bubbles away. They swam a bit, to rinse off. Glad to be clean they left the river. Dem put their soap away, shook it free of water and put it back in the case, back in the gap in the cliff face. They walked to their swimming hole, enjoying a lazy swim and lazy kisses in a wondrous cove of flowering vines, smooth planes of rock warmed by the sun and clear, pretty water. Ross got out first and produced a comb from one of the pockets in his clothes. He stood, wet, letting the sun dry him as he combed his hair, Dem stepped out and he passed the comb to her. In full sun her scarred back was more noticeable. Ross had become used to seeing it but he never lost the sense of anger that her father had hurt her so. He smiled at her and Dem smiled back. Dem looked at her husband. They looked so young people often disbelieved them but they had gotten married before they left France. They were in love but it was also away to insure they not be separated. They belonged to each other. When they last got rounded up for vagrancy Ross was allowed to remain with her in the cell. That saved both of them from harm. They sat in the warmth of the sun Dem put her skirt back on, Ross put his jeans back on. Ross' wedding ring glinted in the sun against his chest. Dem's glittered between her breasts. They sat under a tree's shade, topless, Dem happy in the crook of Ross' arm and sat. They sang together, to pass the time, waiting to dry, enjoying the beauty of nature and being each other's.

"What do you mean 'living there'?" demanded Mr. Warleggan. "How can there be people up there?!" Tankard shrugged. "There are two kids up there in some sort of folly, not a proper house. They are English, spoke english. They have chickens and animals up there! Proper animals, they have a cow!" George frowned. It can't be their's... They are trespassing..." Tankard gave a bark of a laugh. "They're little better than animals themselves. They were larking about, feral, in the altogether!" Mr. Warleggan's eyebrows raised. "Get an eyeful, did you?" Tankard nodded. "At it like rabbits..." Mr. Warleggan looked over the notes Tankard had written, the sketches he'd made. The land had multiple vectors for investment and income. Clearing out a couple of English kids should pose no problem. "Ask around, some of the locals must know something about them or the property up there..."

"As you wish, Mr. Warleggan." nodded Tankard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue Stars is not a song title, A blue star was the good luck charm and symbol that Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe shared between them and often referenced in their long friendship.
> 
> In the altogether: naked


	2. You're So Vain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jet set, set

Caroline insisted that Italy would be perfect for many interesting people swore by it. Warm weather and unspoiled, not overrun with dowdy holiday makers, a more refined sort of bohemian enjoyment. Dwight agreed, the other choice, Marrakech, was rumored to have wild partying and heavy drug use within many of the well appointed, wealthy holiday homes. Dwight wanted sun and enjoyment without unpleasantness or drama. A nice getaway with his wife. Meeting her need for the sort of holiday she was used to, having grown up in wealth and luxury. Meeting his modest wish for pleasant times enjoying the charms of his wife which, in truth he felt he could do almost any where. Having rented a pretty villa in Positano, Caroline and Dwight found that everything she'd heard about the place was true. The lemon and orange groves, the natural beauty, so untouched by modernity, let ones eyes fall upon beauty nearly everywhere. The coast was gorgeous. The fisher folk were quaint and their was fine dining to be had as well as rustic boites were one could dance alongside well heeled vacationers and local color. There were grand homes for rental and a group of true aristocracy who lived year round happy to host the right sort of people should introductions be made.

Dwight, happy to admit that Caroline's insistence on having a "proper" vacation was a good decision, still chafed at the self importance of some of the other holidaymakers. The hosts were often kindness itself but some of the guests were, occasionally, annoying. The sort that wanted to brag and curry favor, too pleased to recite, chapter and verse, about all the ways they deserve to be part of the rarified gathering. Tonight they dined at the grand villa of George Falmouth, at the invitation of Caroline's acquaintance Hugh Armitage. Hugh was a charming host, as was his uncle, Lord Falmouth. The guest making a show of his grand plans for development in the area was George Warleggan. Through the elegant courses of dinner, they were treated to all manner of dry, avaricious talk about acquiring land in the hills nearby, causing even Hugh to wink at Dwight in amused agreement at the silliness of George's puffery. It might have remained a bore had he not started to complain of "squatters" living in a strange folly in the woods up there. "A folly?" asked Caroline, her eyes colored, briefly, by the reflection of the wine in her glass. "Ah," exclaimed Lord Falmouth. "Architecture of an impractical nature." He looked toward George. "That's an old hunting lodge, up there..." He looked up at the ceiling in thought. "1700s, I should think." Hugh quipped, with a chuckle, "Well if it's Georgian than I expect you'll net it yourself in good time, Mr. Warleggan. Your name is already on it, as it were! I suppose a 'George' should have it!" They all had a good laugh. Dwight was intrigued. "You say there are young people, living in it? There's no electricity up there, surely?" George nodded. "No electric, no plumbing either. They are living rough, the hippie sort...It's one step above homelessness but they've got a cow and..." At this Caroline laughed, merrily. "A cow?!" George smiled, happy to have gained the attention of the table and managed to be witty. "Yes, one suspects they are up there because they'd not be allowed entrance into any respectable gathering for miles. Even the peasants in the village look askance when they come down from the valley. "So they do go into town?" Asked Hugh, curious to meet such bohemians. "Apparently, the police chief said they got told off for begging once." Dwight took a sip of his wine. He felt sympathy for the kids in this tale. He suspected all who weren't moneyed were 'beggars' in Warleggan's eyes.

The meal wound down. After port, in the well appointed courtyard, Warleggan left. Lord Falmouth retired for the night and bade Dwight and Caroline stay overnight, relax, visiting with Hugh a while longer and not trouble themselves with a late night journey. They bid him good night and Hugh put his feet up on the chair his uncle had left. Having swallowed down the last of his port he wondered aloud, "Poor George, that his glorious empire should be denied to him by a couple of hippies!" They had a good laugh. "Is it difficult to get up there?" asked Caroline. Hugh shook his head 'no'. "It's not impossible, I wouldn't risk it on a rainy day," he looked at them both in seriousness. "Rock falls often happen up there, some of the higher cliffs are shocking, I shouldn't want to lose my footing! But a dry, fair day shouldn't be a trouble..." She turned to Dwight, "Are you up for a climb, Dwight? I should like to see how the other half lives, it sounds like a doll's house!" Hugh sat up a bit more with a grin. "Let's do that! Tomorrow! We can go in my car after breakfast!" Dwight frowned. "I don't know, maybe they don't want gawpers..." Caroline smiled. "If nothing else they should be told that someone's looking to turn them out! If they have a cow they certainly mean to stay there!" Hugh frowned, briefly, thinking. "We shall come in peace, and see what is going on up there. If they mean to live up there in the winter they should be talked round, talked out of it. Even if George can't shift them I don't think it's safe up there in the cold. They'd be trapped on that cliff until spring!"

The next morning Dwight lay on his back, disheveled in lent pajamas, in a borrowed bed, in the pleasant glow of having had his wife's attentions. He sighed as she raised a triumphant eyebrow. "How do you expect me to climb a mountain after that!?" She sat up with a merry giggle. "You will revive from having a hearty breakfast!" They shared one more kiss and she shook her hair in an effortless rearrangement of her hair to a tousled perfection. Caroline and Dwight washed, dressed in the previous night's clothes and wandered downstairs in this vast house. Hugh greeted them near a sideboard of delicious looking breakfast items and they tucked in as Hugh put down the teacup he was holding. "I'm afraid Uncle and I are still quite English, but there can be coffee if you prefer..." His guests were content with tea and they considered their day. "I think we should go to the village first," said Hugh. "We should not show up empty handed" Caroline nodded. "Excellent idea, nothing too fancy..." Hugh looked surprised. "Why ever not? I'm sure they have little in the way of luxury up there..." The doctor in Dwight reared its head. "If they are too spartan up there, something over rich might make them ill. There is no running water up there..." They considered this idea. "I expect you are right, Dwight..." Hugh rubbed his chin, thinking. "A packet of biscuits... A sweet but not too much?" Dwight nodded. "Yes, and perhaps a bit of cocoa in them, not too much..."

  
With a modest packet of chocolate biscuits and a small plastic pail from an outdoor market (they agreed that it might be a useful item to give them) , they rode in Hugh's car to the foot of the cliffs and with a sense of adventure, hiked up the valley. It was a breathtakingly beautiful place. Dwight took some photos with his camera, pleased to have views that would rival National Geographic magazine pictures. Hugh took the lead in a crisp white polo shirt and a pale straw Panama hat, he wore very smart grey trousers that clashed with the beaten up sneakers he wore. Caroline and Dwight followed, she in a wide brimmed, straw hat and pretty, pink sundress, brought low by also wearing beaten up sneakers and Dwight clad as well in old shoes but more casual looking in khaki trousers and the blue tee shirt that had been under his button down from the night before. They admired the beauty and acknowledged that, yes indeed, some areas of these cliffs were quite scary. Hugh's uncle gave them some idea of how to get to the folly without getting lost. In his uncle's day it was a well known part of the valley but the overgrowth over time caused less and less people to brave the climb. Birds and the calls of various animals sounded among the wind in the trees. "Hugh looked up ahead, "Not long now..." They could hear an old fashioned gramophone playing up ahead. Caroline laughed and turned to Dwight with an enchanted looking grin. The strains of "You're The Cream In My Coffee" were heard, joining with the bird song, with the rattle of the trees in the wind overhead. They came upon a white wall, once bright but showing age, darkened patches on various places, droozled here and there with creeping vines. They walked around it and were treated to the sight of two young people dancing as if this wild land around them was a ballroom. They danced in the footprint of a dry fountain bed, swinging each other about gracefully, hand to hand, cheek to cheek as the boy sang along to the recording.

When they left, having made the acquaintance of the two young people in the folly and spent an enjoyable hour in their company, Dwight, Caroline and Hugh were thoughtful. They secured Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark's promise that they would be their guests for dinner on Saturday, to stay into Sunday. Caroline was determined to give them a proper meal and a good breakfast. She also wanted to discuss George's intention to buy the land with them away from their little paradise. Not fret them over the problem in their own home. Let them feel safe in their home... Hugh drove Dwight and Caroline to the home they were renting for their holiday. He seemed very quiet, thinking. "Have they stirred you, Hugh? I must admit I am quite taken with them." said Dwight. "They're darling!" said Caroline. Hugh smiled but it was a troubled smile. "They are darling, I dare say. Certainly more appealing than George! Warleggan is so vain!" Dwight frowned. "I don't follow, in what way 'vain'?" Hugh glowered. "He thinks he can just snap his fingers and lay waste to all this!" Hugh turned in his seat, briefly, to risk looking at Dwight before continuing to look at the road. "It isn't just that those two should be left alone, though, again, staying over in the winter up there isn't wise...." He looked forward. "If I hadn't been so bored listening to him rant on and on, like a tuppenny Napoleon!" Caroline frowned. "What do you mean, Hugh?" Hugh sighed. "I didn't think through what he was _really_ saying! If George let's all his 'glorious' plans go through, cutting down all the trees, and certainly letting it get ripped up to pieces mining he will, single handedly, destroy every fishing village on this coast!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're So Vain, Carly Simon 1972
> 
> You walked into the party  
> Like you were walking on to a yacht  
> Your hat strategically dipped below one eye  
> Your scarf, it was apricot  
> You had one eye in the mirror  
> As you watched yourself Gavotte  
> And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner  
> They'd be your partner, and
> 
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain (you're so vain)  
> I'll bet you think this song is about you  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?
> 
> Oh, you had me several years ago  
> When I was still quite naive  
> When you said that we made such a pretty pair  
> And that you would never leave  
> But you gave away the things you loved  
> And one of them was me  
> I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee  
> Clouds in my coffee, and
> 
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain (you're so vain)  
> I'll bet you think this song is about you  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?
> 
> I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee  
> Clouds in my coffee, and
> 
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain (you're so vain)  
> I'll bet you think this song is about you  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?
> 
> Well I hear you went up to Saratoga  
> And your horse, naturally, won  
> Then you flew your Learjet up to Nova Scotia  
> To see the total eclipse of the sun  
> Well, you're where you should be all the time  
> And when you're not, you're with some underworld spy  
> Or the wife of a close friend  
> Wife of a close friend, and
> 
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain (so vain)  
> I'll bet you think this song is about you  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?  
> Don't you?
> 
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain  
> You probably think this song is about you  
> You're so vain
> 
> avaricious: greedy
> 
> gawpers: "rubberneckers", spectators


	3. You're The Cream In My Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests

"You're the sail in my love boat,  
You're the captain and crew,  
You will always be my necessity,  
I'd be lost without you.

You will always be my necessity  
I'd be lost without you.  
You  
Sweet, Adorable..."  
The voice on the recording finished the song as Ross and Dem stopped dancing and stood, stock still, to see two men and a woman standing at the edge of the fountain bed. Framed by the greenery of the valley these clearly well heeled people seemed to drop out of the sky. The woman wore a crisp, beautiful hat, as did one of the men. She held a red plastic pail with some sort of colorfully wrapped packet within it. They all smiled warmly.  
The boy and girl, for they looked so young, stopped dancing, surprised to have visitors. She wore a long, brown skirt, her ankles and feet just showing, and a clingy, dark green vest with a trim of cream colored lace for the shoulder straps. As thin as she was, the vest made her breasts and hips look very feminine. A necklace chain disappeared into the vest and one could not see the charm it must have held. The boy froze with one hand still at her hip the other grasping her hand, in black jeans and a linen shirt that wouldn't have looked out of place on a poet. The sleeves were rolled up and it was unbuttoned at the neck. A thin chain just glinted light there. Perhaps they matched, the necklaces... They stared at each other, extricated themselves from their dance position and then they stood next to each other, facing these strangers, clearly torn between wanting to be friendly and worrying over why they now had guests. A dog, as rangey and shaggy looking as its owners, came forward, trotted past them both with a friendly bark and Dwight knelt down to pet him. Caroline and Hugh were charmed to see their hosts eyes follow the dog and smile as he enjoyed Dwight's attention. They both seemed to exhale, relax. Seeing the strangers earned their dog's seal of approval meant a great deal to them. "Hello...?" said Dem, a little uncertain as to why these people should be here. Caroline stepped forward. "Hello, forgive the intrusion. We heard you both were in residence here and wanted to meet you. My name is Caroline." She shifted the pail to one hand. Gestured with the other. "This is my husband, Dwight and our friend, Hugh." Ross and Dem shared a shy look before Ross said, "Good day. I am Ross and this is my wife, Dem." All three guests eyes widened, blinked. They didn't look old enough for that to be true. They both smiled a sunny smile. They had become used to people being surprised that they were proper man and wife. "And he's Garrick." smiled Ross.

They accepted the biscuits with a glee that charmed. The Poldarks had honey, to spread on things, but not many sweets and baked goods were rare. They had what could be cooked on the stove and no oven so the cookies were a grand present. That a cheap packet of biscuits pleased them so made all three visitors fall a little in love with Ross and Dem, smitten with these two attractive kids in their little dollhouse. If one could know happiness in simplicity... these two seemed to have found it. They made tea. They shared their biscuits with their guests in a rough hewn jewel of a home. A sweeping, blue and gold velvet drapery at one wall, slim paperback books of poetry lay in various places. Piles of thin, black bound sketchbooks and a enameled tin that once held tomato puree now sat stuffed with pens and pencils awaited inspiration in the shelves as well as few hastily removed books, taken from the day bed so their guests could sit. Pillows in all colors brightened the room. Jars of wildflowers, vibrant and inviting, were tucked in various parts of their little house. A high quality, beautifully carved Madonna statue, dressed in starched lace and velvet sat, in pride of place, in the middle of their wall of bookshelves with a white votive candle burning in front of it, like many homes in the area. The low table they ate upon was a thick, dark, glossy wood that reflected candlelight nearby as well as showed their pretty dishes to good effect. Though the house was small, housed a dog and a cat as well as their owners at close quarters, the air was fresh. The windows were open, letting the fresh air of nature mix with the pleasant scent of candle wax. Ross and Dem bade their guests sit, side by side, on an ornately carved daybed and sip tea from pretty china cups and saucers. Ross and Dem sat on the floor, facing their guests in a cozy, lovely riot of color, lit with glass votive candles of all sizes, to conserve fuel for the hurricane lamps they used at night. Eyes bright from the candlelight, the curls of their long hair also catching the light, both of them enjoying the chocolate cookies as if they were manna from heaven. Dwight, Caroline and Hugh sat on the Poldarks' daybed and chatting about the area, speaking of themselves in general terms, all the while noticing their hosts' subtle ballet of slender arms and skinny wrists, the loving looks and gentle regard they had for one another. This house was small but they fit within it just so. A rightness in how close they sat, the casual ardor between them. They were, very much, in love... Ross and Dem were bright eyed and friendly with small, matching star tattoos on their left hands. Hugh bobbled his teacup in surprise when they explained they had often been detained for vagrancy in France and gotten tattooed in prison. They spoke of it matter of factly, happily eating chocolate biscuits. Caroline, Dwight and Hugh, taking pains not to knock their elbows into each other as they drank their tea and ate their biscuits side by side, had come to unspoken agreement, in a rapid tribunal of furtive, sidelong glances, that the Poldarks should be looked after in the winter, somehow. George might not succeed in driving them out of this place but these kids up here with their animals and their little jewel box of a home might risk peril in the cold, marooned in an inaccessible valley. They did not want let these two come to harm...

Dusk fell. The animals were fed. Ross washed the dishes, washing them in a tin basin and rinsing them in another, wiping them dry one by one, flinging the used water in the woods and letting the basins sit on their side edge to dry. Dem's fire, stoked outdoors, so they could scald and scrub clean the milk buckets while they still had daylight now burned low. After the dishes were done, Ross sat by the fire with his guitar, Dem sitting near with Garrick curled by her side, Tabitha Bethia presiding over the night from one of the windowsills indoors. The stars in the sky sparkled overhead. They sang like they used to when they would busk for spare change in the market squares. Dem's voice lilted in a pretty dovetail with Ross' playing. He watched her smiling at the visions in her head. Demelza felt the songs as she sang them and sang them to a far off somewhere. When she sang of heartbreak, the strands of pain in their lives brought beauty to her voice. Sometimes even gruff working men shed a tear, stopped to listen because she so moved them. When Dem sang of love Ross could see her disappear into all that was each other. When she sang, chin tilted up, eyes focused on something beyond the view of others, Ross' heart swelled because he resided in that place. Ross lived in that dreamy, faraway look in her eye. They had a true love, felt that true love. Lay their heads by it in their rest at night, be it in a bed or under a bridge. They embraced it when they had their arms around one another, tasted it when they kissed. They exuded it when they played music together and people watching could feel it too. An owl hooted. The song finished. Ross set down the guitar and they sat, Ross' arm around her, happy to be together, grateful to have each other and now a home to call their own. Dem lay her head on his shoulder with the same dreamy smile, Ross kissed her forehead and they simply sat. The trees still chattered their leaves, the sound of night's creatures replaced that of the day. The fire painted them both in flickering light, Ross pressed a toe near Dem's as if even their toes could kiss. Soon they would wash their feet of the day's soil, rinse their faces and hands of the day's toil and go to bed. A proper bed. Not straining to stay awake in the spindly chairs of all night cafés, or sat up in doorways or under a bridge with Ross' guitar case between them. Not cowering in fear, frightened by people who wished them harm. Ross and Dem would retire to their own bed in their own little house, make love to each other, sleep sound and wake in the morning in each other's arms. Safe and together, under their own roof.

A wish come true, a dream made real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're The Cream In My Coffee, Annette Hanshaw 1928
> 
> I'm not a poet,  
> How well I know it,  
> I've never been a raver,  
> But when I speak of you,  
> I rave a bit, its true.
> 
> I'm wild about you,  
> I'm lost without you,  
> You give my life its flavor,  
> What sugar does for tea,  
> That's what you do for me.
> 
> You're the cream in my coffee,  
> You're the salt in my stew  
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You're the starch in my collar,  
> You're the lace in my shoe  
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> Most girls tell love tales,  
> And each phrase dovetails  
> You've heard each known way,  
> This way is my own way:
> 
> You're the sail of my loveboat,  
> You're the captain and crew,  
> You will always be my necessity  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You're the cream in my coffee,  
> You're the salt in my stew  
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You are my life savor,  
> You bring out that certain flavor,  
> So dear, this is clear, dear,  
> You're my Worcestershire, dear!
> 
> You're the sail in my love boat,  
> You're the captain and crew,  
> You will always be my necessity,  
> I'd be lost without you.
> 
> You will always be my necessity  
> I'd be lost without you.  
> You  
> Sweet, Adorable You
> 
> vest: tank top


	4. Sweets For My Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends

"Oh, Caroline!" tsked Dwight. "Do you really mean to give them that?!"  
Dwight looked askance at a large, glamorous cassata, a sponge cake soaked in liquor, stuffed with ricotta speckled through with glossy bits of candied fruit, wrapped in bright green marzipan, crowned in cream and fondant, resplendent with elegant loops and cut shapes of translucent candied pear, citron and vividly colored glacé cherries of red and green. It lay, in wait, in an unassuming white pastry box in the refrigerator. He tucked the lid of the box back down, rolling his eyes at the over the top dessert. "Of course!" said Caroline with a easy flick of an unconcerned wrist. "They need fattening up! They are thin as a wraith, the pair of them!" Caroline put her tea cup down and crossed her arms in mock offense. "Why shouldn't the Poldarks eat cream cake? They'll love it!" Dwight retrieved the blood orange he sought and began to peel it, looking at her sternly. "I don't doubt it but you'll not do them any favors trying to 'fatten them up'!" Caroline narrowed her eyes in annoyance. "They are too thin! Living in the wilderness on love alone isn't helping them!" Dwight laughed. "Darling, they spend most of their day in physical, hard labor, fueled on milk and eggs every day. And 'love alone' is an understatement! If they get more empty sweets in them you'll certainly make Dem fatten up! She'll fall pregnant if she gets anymore nourishment than they already do! Can you imagine the two of them with a baby up there!?" Caroline took a sip of tea and glowered at this, admittedly, sound advice. She pouted over her cup in dissatisfaction. She would feed up her thin things, these Poldarks, these doll house dolls with their darling little wrists, and poetry, candlelit eyes and stars on their fingers... "Dr. Enys is a stick in the mud! Bring me Dwight!" she groused. He smiled. She fought her corner. "One dinner with a nice cake for afters should do them no harm! Do you expect me to give them bread and water?!" Dwight chuckled over his orange as the peel unwound. "They might have gotten used to that diet!" He paused from dealing with his orange, looked to his wife with an astonished shake of his head. "How can they put young kids like that in a prison? Even for an hour let alone overnight! They look like school children now, can you imagine what they must have looked like at fifteen?" Caroline shook her head. "I can't even imagine... Hugh just about dropped his tea when they mentioned that!" She put down her own cup. "They are so sweet, Dwight! Let them be guests! A bit of a plumping one evening won't hurt!" He sighed, held the orange in one hand, a curl of peel in the other and raised his hands in mock defeat. "I said my piece. We shall entertain them in grand, Penvenen style and I shall not scold..." Caroline nodded sharply. "Good!" she said. "Until the next time..." Dwight dodged a well aimed linen napkin.

Hugh drove to the base of the cliff, parked and began the climb to collect the Poldarks. The weather was warm, sunny. The views, where ever one chose to look, were stunning and he resolved to start making inquiries. Many people in positions of power were sympathetic to the idea of 'progress'. Chasing modernity. A plan like Warleggan's would seem like progress to some. But it wasn't a nostalgic impulse to find stripping every last stick of timber and poisoning the water for the sake of mineral extraction repugnant. Maybe those of like mind could exert some sort of influence. What will be left for the residents of the coast if they could not fish anymore? Inquiries... The birds sang, a fox ran across his path, quite near, and it made him smile. He had some sympathy for the foxes, the wildlife, the trees. Not everything in this world should bow to 'progess'...

"Sweetness?!"

Hugh heard Ross' voice, calling out for his wife. He turned the corner of the whitewashed wall in time to see Dem's red curls flop over the edge of the roof, turning her head towards Ross, laying quite near the onion shaped dome on the roof. Her eyes sparkled within their happy crinkle as she smiled upon her husband. "Yes, Ross?" She looked across the yard, saw Ross first and then saw Hugh. "Hello, Hugh!" Ross turned around. "Ah! I was about to warn Dem you would be here soon. Hello, Hugh." Hugh nodded his hello with a smile. "Hello, Ross. Happy to see you once more." They both looked up at Dem. "How did you get up there?" asked Hugh, charmed to see her smiling down upon them. "There's a ladder. Won't be a moment!" She vanished and Hugh wondered what other strange habits the Poldarks kept in there life up here. She came around from the back of the house. She wore a light blue dress, v necked and long. It had a pretty, swishing hem as she walked in dark blue flat shoes, like a ballet dancer would wear. Ross had a crisp white, proper button down shirt and black proper trousers, not jeans. He wore black boots that were polished to a shine Hugh was surprised he could manage in their wild digs. They were dressed to go out. Dressed well but still so charming, still a hint of the rebel, artistic... "Were you bringing a case? A bag? I believe the Enyses intend for you to stay the night..." asked Hugh. They shook their heads 'no'. Hugh smiled, warmly. They would wear their same clothes back home and not bother with sleeping attire... "Shall we?" smiled Hugh.

As they drove, Hugh talked of his uncle's place, in Italy. He spoke of Cornwall and could see their eyes widen in surprise. "Do you live in Cornwall?!" asked Ross. "I do, sometimes. I spend a good deal of time here, in Italy and there, in England. You know Cornwall?" Hugh watched them nod 'yes' in the rear view mirror. 'Hmmmm...' thought Hugh. Ross and Dem had seen grand houses often but did not have cause to enter them. The villa that Dwight and Caroline were vacationing in was wonderfully large and very elegant. Ross and Dem walking along side him reminded Hugh of watching schoolchildren touring a historic building, craning their necks, looking all around. "Hello! I'm so glad you are here!" said Caroline with Dwight in step with her. "Hello, Ross. Hello, Dem." He said. The Poldarks smiled, quite at the same time, quite alike, "Hello!" They sat in modern, stylish leather chairs in a large sitting room. Dem curled up in hers like a cat, with the tips of her shoes peeking from the hem of her dress. Ross sat forward, often resting his elbows on his knees, looking among them all as they spoke of poetry and shared very large books about paintings, passing them back and forth and watching their guests speak in an excited way about art in general and the various reproductions in the books. By degrees they all ended up seated on the floor, looking and talking, laughing and even sparking gentle argument about art. Hugh was impressed by their creativity, explaining and defending their ideas, their likes and dislikes. Even when they were unfamiliar with artists they approached discussion of what they saw, what they thought in a manner more mature than their hosts might have given them credit for upon meeting them. They also listened, asked questions, one felt engaged and vital, invigorated by the give and take of ideas. Dwight enjoyed the laid back sort of feeling that he remembered from his student days, feeling passion for ideas among the camaraderie of like minds. Caroline was enchanted. She and Dem were not relegated to sipping tea or something stronger while the men chattered elsewhere, a feature of many evenings out in the visiting she and Dwight had attended in the holiday homes of others. A stodgy correctness in the jet set scene. Men and their drinks and talk, women and theirs. Ross spoke to Caroline with the ease of a friend as Dem did towards Dwight and Hugh. The Poldarks were charming. 

They ate dinner in courses. Servants stood at the ready to provide and take away the various plates. Ross and Dem were amused by the plates being continually removed and replaced, eyes darting towards the other, daring the other to disgrace themselves by laughing, and smiling amusement as they 'behaved'. All of the food was delicious. The wine was rich and heavy. The talk around the table was of a general nature and they managed much laughter. It was a charming evening. Caroline was determined to speak of Warleggan's plans for the land before the cake was served and Dwight looked at her with a raised eyebrow to query whether she would broach the subject. She nodded. "Ross?" He chewed, vigorously to swallow what he was eating. "Yes?" Caroline lay her fork in her plate, that it be taken away. "How did you come to live at the folly?" Ross and Dem exchanged a look. Plainly trying to decide between them how little or how much to divulge of their history. Hugh spoke up. "I believe Caroline is wondering if you are squatting or if you have permission. They looked relieved. Hugh and the Enyses had cause to wonder what the Poldarks had thought they were being asked. "We have a lease for five years." said Ross. Dwight and Hugh's eyebrows raised, simultaneously. "From the town or from a person?" asked Hugh. "The town." said Ross. "Did you pay money?" asked Dwight. Ross shook his head. "No one would rent to us in the village. No one would allow us to busk, they said we were begging." Caroline knit her brow. "How did you get a five year lease up there?" Dem said. "We decided to look around ourselves, try finding a cave to stay in..." Dwight's mouth fell open. "You meant to live in a cave?!" Ross shrugged, good naturedly. "We've slept rough all over Europe. A cave is luxury when you've more often slept in a doorway!" All three adults stared in consternation, in shock, but their guests seemed not to notice as they continued to explain. "We found the house and then came back down to ask if we could live there." said Dem. Ross nodded, adding, "We said we would keep it nice and not busk in the village." Hugh asked, incredulous, "They said yes?" They nodded. Ross said, with a glimmer of pride in his voice, "The clerk said if we could make him cry with our music he would extend us the right to live up there for five years." Caroline smiled from ear to ear. "And you did..." Dem smiled, nodded. "We played 'Ave Maria'..." Hugh ducked his chin. Grinned, looked at them and said, "You're telling us you bought the right to live up there for five years," he giggled. "For a song?" Ross and Dem's smiles, as they nodded 'yes', were a picture. Caroline looked between them all with a wide grin. Their story charmed her. She decided to wait to talk about Warleggan. She or Hugh could verify the lease themselves first and that, should it be correct, would answer everything. The Poldarks, seemingly content, could stay their five years and Warleggan could have free use of the land after. Perfect. Hugh seemed unhappy with George's intent for the land. Five years grace could allow for negotiating a more balanced approach. Hugh was concerned that they not stay in the folly over the winter. The Enyses would be gone by summer's end but Hugh and his uncle might contrive a place for them to stay in the cold weather. A flat, perhaps? Not deny the Poldarks their doll house but also keep them safe? Couldn't it all work? They all smiled, looking about at the brace of friendly faces round the table, realizing that they would have a pleasant summer in each other's company.

"Shall we have cake?" asked Caroline.

"Wasn't that a wonderful cake!" sighed a contented Ross, splayed on his back the on bed of the room they were given. A vast bedroom with a carpet so thick they felt their feet sink into it as they walked upon it and an en suite bathroom with a claw foot bathtub the size of a battleship. Dem lay near him, on her front, smiling dreamily. Both draped upon the bed, nude, their hair still damp from the bath. The gold rings at their throats, chains coiled in a loose loop down their necks, seemed to lie as heavy on the mattress as they did. Light from the borders of the property, outdoors, gave the room a dim, cool, bluish cast. "It was _gorgeous_!" sighed Dem. They had enjoyed the cassata immensely. They hadn't had such a grand pastry in ages and not in the Italian style. When they could, they would sate their sweet tooth with all manner of delicious pastries in France. They became students of pastry, living in the streets of Paris, busking for what money there was to be had from strangers. They came to know and love a wide array of what the patisseries had to offer. Which would fill one up, which would leave one hungry too soon, which was better shared, which would hold them from hunger when money was tight, which were pure joy. What would they have thought then if they knew that there would be a someday when they'd be stuffed to the gills with cream cake, bathing in piping hot water in a claw foot bathtub for hours and hours and hours, dear god, a such a wonderful, hot bath. The longest, hottest bath in the history of bathing... And a bed so large they could roll about on it like children down a hill -if their stomachs weren't so full... "Oh, Sweetness! What a bed!" smiled Ross, eyes closed. "What a tragedy we've eaten too much cake to make proper use of it!" They felt the mattress moving from their giggling. Dem reached across for Ross' hand and he held her hand in his, each feeling sleepy and content. They were too full and contented to be amorous. They said good bye to Hugh as he took his leave, good night to their hosts who seemed so nice. They idled away hours in the glorious bathtub and now, sprawled, naked and content, upon this giant bed. Beginning to feel sleep overtake them. They had a lovely time and liked these friendly people. They would have friends, thought Ross and Dem. That would be nice. They liked Hugh and Dwight and Caroline. Ross and Dem felt they were good people and would be nice friends. They slept soundly, dreaming dreams sweetened by a grand villa filled with candied pears and whipped cream and happy companionship. Ross and Dem felt the Enyses were nice, but they also wedged a chair at the door as they slept, just to be sure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweets For My Sweet, The Drifters 1961
> 
> Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> Your perfect kiss thrills me so  
> Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> I'll never ever let you go
> 
> If you wanted that star that shines so brightly  
> To match the star dust in your eyes  
> Darlin', I would chase that bright star nightly  
> And try to steal it from the skies
> 
> 'Cause I would give sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> Your perfect kiss thrills me so  
> Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> I'll never ever let you go
> 
> And if you needed a dream to keep you smiling  
> I'll tell the sandman you were blue  
> And I'd ask him to keep that sand a-piling  
> Till your dreams would come true
> 
> 'Cause I would give sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> Your perfect kiss thrills me so  
> Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> I'll never ever let you go
> 
> If you wanted a love to last forever  
> Then I would send my love your way  
> And my love would only last forever  
> But forever and a day
> 
> 'Cause I would give sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> Your perfect kiss thrills me so  
> Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey  
> I'll never ever let you go


	5. For The Love Of Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priceless

'A pox on the Mediterranean temperment...' thought George as he rolled his eyes, stomping down the steps of the building to his awaiting car, driver at the ready. He sat in the back, giving the driver no acknowledgment, and sat scowling as the driver pulled away to bring his employer home. George seethed. The clerk at the town hall had, with the mawkish sentimentality so often seen in these backwater places, had certified and notarized a five year lease to the kids living in an abandoned hunting lodge that his assistant, Tankard, said looked like a tatty backlot set for an Arabian Nights movie. The clerk, with a straight face, mind, told Tankard (and then George, for he refused to believe Tankard's explanation) that he sought to tease the two vagrants that had been seen around town, told them he would permit their occupancy of the folly and an utterly absurd amount of the adjoining land, if they could move him to tears with their music. The mangey, grotty looking children, she dragging a lumpen sack of clothes, he carrying a beaten up guitar case, a mongrel dog at their heels looked disgraceful. The clerk, convinced they only knew cheap pop songs and cabaret ditties had expected no chance of victory occurring, but he had been wrong. The thing he had set out to prove had proved something quite different. Human nature had outmaneuvered him. They had succeeded. He, now, could not go back on his word. "But sir! The girl sang 'Ave Maria'!" The clerk crossed himself in reverence. George's fingers twitched in the swallowed down desire to slap the clerk. Of course those two miscreants conned him with church music! "The boy played guitar and she sang like a Christmas angel sprung from the ground! I felt sunlight inside me, that is how well she sang!" It was utterly foolish but entirely legal. The seals of notary were affixed. Done. It was a problem. Warleggan had no way of putting his three step plan into motion for five years unless he could get those kids out of there. No logging could begin, even with the purchase of the land in hand. Without a period of aggressive land management, the mining would not go forward. These hippies set his plan back by, at the very least, eight years! Sell the wood to clear the land. Mining and extraction was impossible without that first step. The money to be made from timber alone was jawdropping. Incredible return on investment! Hunting was difficult in the valley. The creatures in the valley multiplied unchecked. There was every expectation that animal pelts and feathers would be a lucrative side product. Once he owned the land, every inch of it was potential income in a multitude of ways! Once the minerals waned, setting aside some, negligible, issues of water rights and contamination concerns, holiday homes for the grasping middle classes would bring pots of money! So much money, logjammed behind a couple of street rats, a couple of beggars!  
George maintained a black mood for twenty-four hours. Then he reasoned that the two vagabonds could be induced to leave by paying them off. What kid would turn up their nose at a good payday? They would leave and life could resume as normal. He enjoyed the area, enjoyed the rarified, glamour of the ruling class here, but he did not want to be trapped in Italy, waiting for the issues to resolve. He was bound for England. He had work going idle for want of his signature, other fish to fry. There was no reason to be hamstrung by beggars. Pay them off...

  
Tankard was useful but his was better done himself. Negotiations through a go between were useful if both parties were equal. George assumed that street children, who probably were of the criminal element, probably ignorant, the lower intellect of the lower classes, needed direct handling. He would see them himself. Decide on the spot how much money it would take to shift them. Size them up and name his figure. They would go. Scroungers like that couldn't help but jump at the chance to get a windfall. Their sort might fritter it all away on drink, but that was no concern of his. Pay them off and there's an end to it.

Tankard accompanied his employer. Roaming around the valley was better done with two, not only because Tankard knew where the folly was but accidents were possible. It was better to have someone who could get help, if required. Mr. Warleggan should not have to sully himself, haggling for what was rightfully his. Mr. Warleggan was inconvenienced by these homeless buskers and made to come out of his busy, extremely important working holiday. An imposition!  
It was a hard hike for a sedentary business man but they made it to the folly. George was not taken by any sense of beauty in these surroundings. George saw this place as investment, writ large. A stroll through Hyde Park was as much nature as George Warleggan cared to indulge in. Grass and trees in their proper place...  
A guitar was heard. A gentle strumming. A dog started barking. "Garrick?" asked Ross, setting the guitar down, getting up from the threshold of the folly's entrance. The dog seemed agitated. "Garrick, good boy..." Ross came to his side, scratched his head. "What do you hear?" George motioned Tankard to wait, stay out of view. He would meet these vagrants as an authority figure. George came around the whitewashed wall, brown leather loafers of high quality, light blue trousers with a crisp white shirt and a Panama hat, chilly and bone white with a black hat band. He faced a tall, long haired kid, in blue jeans and a black tee shirt, rubbing the neck of a scraggly dog, they were perhaps as scraggly as each other. The boy knit his brows. The dog stood still, waiting with disapproval to see what this visitor had in store. "Hello?" said the busker. "Good afternoon. I am George Warleggan. I intend to purchase this area and would prefer that you vacate this..." He scrunched his nose. George was not impressed by this strange home. He would raise it once they left. "This structure. I am willing to make it worth your while..." A bright voice came from around the side of the house. "Ross! There are raspberry canes in the far side of the mead... Oh!" George turned to see the second squatter. A red headed girl in a loose linen shirt and a long, blue denim skirt carrying a small pile of raspberries in a handkerchief in her hands. She looked to the boy. George stared at their bare feet. Four, long and spindly bare feet. He recalled that Tankard had mentioned he had seen them fucking. They must have been an odd showing. These two were skinny, skin and bone. When they were at it, their bones probably knocked together and clattered like castanets! "Dem, this person..." George frowned. "George Warleggan." he said, tartly. Ross looked askance at this man. A self important, silly sort of man. Garrick still stood at attention, waiting. "Mr. Warleggan is buying the land in this area and wants to pay us money to move on from here." Dem frowned. "We have a right to be here. We have a proper lease for five years!" said Dem. Ross nodded. "We intend to live out the terms of our lease, sir. I'm pleased to meet you, if you are to be our landlord." said Ross. Dem nodded with a sunny smile. "Would you like some raspberries, sir?" George looked from one to the other. This girl was offering him his own fruit! "Come, come. Surely we can come to some figure that will satisfy you," here he sniffed, haughty. Dem lowered her hands. "We will not leave. Whatever amount of money you are offering will not change our minds." said Dem. Ross put his arm around her. "My wife and I will remain, Mr. Warleggan." They stood watching him with an insolent, blank expression. He called her his wife, though that sort probably enoble their girlfriends in that manner, without much thought in it... George pressed his lips into a bitter line. He would not wait nearly eight years to bring his investment into fruition. He would get them out, one way or another. "Well, should you change your mind the offer still stands. Good day." Ross nodded. George turned back to leave the valley. They watched him disappear around the end of the wall.

Garrick gave a snort, satisfied that Ross and Dem were not troubled by this stranger. Garrick was fond of these humans and would see them safe, if it was in his power. They saved him from being harmed in a dog fight and he enjoyed their life in the valley. Garrick was proud to be their friend. Ross was always Ross but the girl was a princess for she had the extremely regal name of 'Dem Demelza Sweetness My Love' and answered to each of her titles with grace. He would stand by them, and their cat, she was quite friendly. Garrick liked his friends.

Ross sighed. "Why does it seem to be that the most disagreeable people have the most money?" Dem laughed a tinkling, merry laugh. "Well, I think we disappointed him. He doesn't look like he will return. He doesn't like it up here, he even looked at the raspberries like they might bite his nose!" "Hahahahaha!" Ross scrunched his eyes as he laughed, happy to imagine saber toothed raspberries menacing people. Dem offered Ross a berry. "Thank you, my love. Oh! They taste delicious!" Dem smiled. "We should tell Hugh and Dwight and Caroline when they come tomorrow. They could bring some back with them!" Ross smiled. Their new friends would come swimming in the morning. It was difficult to get back down the trail after dark so they would come early. They would make a day of it. For modesty's sake, since they did not own swimsuits, Ross cut an old pair of jeans into shorts and Dem would press a cotton dress she had into swimming attire. They would show their friends the swimming hole, picnic and now pick raspberries too, if they were amiable to the idea. There was no way to tell them to bring baskets or containers because they hadn't a telephone. Ross and Dem would contrive some sort of conveyance so their friends could bring raspberries back with them. Caroline said they would bring food in aid of their picnic. Perhaps they could bring berries away with them in their basket. Ross and Dem shared a small peck of a kiss and he sat back down, in the open doorway, resumed playing his guitar. Dem lay the berries indoors and then brought a sketch book and pencil up to the roof, where the light was very good, and drew pictures of fanciful flowers and birds and even some grumpy looking raspberries with sharp teeth to please Ross and make him laugh. They didn't have plumbing or electricity. They did not have much money at all. But they had a dog and a cat, a horse and a cow, and a quiet life in their own little house. It was enough. Five years. Knowing that they had a home for five years, cheered them. What happened after that was unknown but they were content. Whatever money Mr. Warleggan could offer couldn't buy them the summer light they enjoyed at this moment or the happiness of laying down at night in their dear little house. He could have his land, all this vast, beautiful land. So much land that he certainly couldn't quibble over sharing a little bit of it with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For The Love Of Money, The O'Jays 1974
> 
> Money money money money, money [Repeat: x 6]
> 
> Some people got to have it  
> Some people really need it  
> Listen to me why'all, do things, do things, do bad things with it  
> You want to do things, do things, do things, good things with it  
> Talk about cash money, money  
> Talk about cash money- dollar bills, why'all
> 
> For the love of money  
> People will steal from their mother  
> For the love of money  
> People will rob their own brother
> 
> For the love of money  
> People can't even walk the street  
> Because they never know who in the world they're gonna beat  
> For that lean, mean, mean green  
> Almighty dollar, money
> 
> For the love of money  
> People will lie, Lord, they will cheat  
> For the love of money  
> People don't care who they hurt or beat  
> For the love of money  
> A woman will sell her precious body  
> For a small piece of paper it carries a lot of weight  
> Call it lean, mean, mean green
> 
> Almighty dollar
> 
> I know money is the root of all evil  
> Do funny things to some people  
> Give me a nickel, brother can you spare a dime  
> Money can drive some people out of their minds
> 
> Got to have it, I really need it  
> How many things have I heard you say  
> Some people really need it  
> How many things have I heard you say
> 
> Got to have it, I really need it  
> How many things have I heard you say  
> Lay down, lay down, a woman will lay down  
> For the love of money
> 
> All for the love of money  
> Don't let, don't let, don't let money rule you  
> For the love of money  
> Money can change people sometimes
> 
> Don't let, don't let, don't let money fool you  
> Money can fool people sometimes  
> People! Don't let money, don't let money change you,  
> It will keep on changing, changing up your mind.
> 
> their bones probably knocked and clattered together like castanets!: I cannot remember where this line is from, a book? a movie? The line was "when they hug, their bones knock together like castenets" a cartoon? I wish I could remember!


	6. Hot Fun In The Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant day

_Where did you find these! Oh! Was it the light? Was the light somehow better in the twentieth century? Why should pictures look so... It was the romance of it, surely? They all had been younger. Hugh grinning in his sunglasses, with a towel around his neck like some sort of lifeguard, in a scandal of a swimsuit. Trust Hugh to find the most European sort... Ross and Dem caught in a quiet moment with his bashful smile at her neck, her eyes are closed, a Cheshire cat smile... and their tattooed fingers showing as she grasped his arm around her. Caroline and Dem, caught midway, plunging toward the water laughing, Caroline arms outstretched in a bikini, wet hair shining as bright as her smile. Dem not far behind her, wet dress clinging to her, carefree, the shadowed hint of her breasts under the wet cloth and beaming, red wet curls flying in the air. Dwight, Hugh and Ross comparing their muscled arms, waist deep in the water, none of them very muscular though Ross' showed well, all that water fetching... Blankets spread on the grass and Dwight stealing a kiss as Caroline grins over her paper cup. Perhaps even paper cups looked nicer back then... Ross sitting, hair wet, knees up, seated on a flat stretch of rock, cut off jeans and hairy legs, the glint of light on his necklace against his chest and a smile like a summer fawn. Summer fawns with rings strung round their neck. A guitar. Good friends. The remembrance of tasting fresh raspberries dipped in cream... We should get around to putting them in an album..._

Dwight bought more film at the camera shop on the way. Hugh, taken by the rustic beauty of the valley, feeling one with nature, insisted that his Swiss army knife was sufficient to cut the sausage in a rustic manner. A cured sausage that might injure someone if they should happen to be clonked on the head with it. A second kitchen knife was added to the basket at Caroline's insistence. "You'll hack away at the poor thing forever with that little thing!" She wore a red bikini under a purple kaftan with white frogging trim in small swirls at the neck and around slits on either side of the hem. She risked espadrilles, black espadrilles. The soles were coiled rope but she felt she could make the climb in them. Dwight had swim trunks to change into. Hugh simply wore his, very small, trunks under the shorts he was wearing. "Hang on," said Caroline. "Let me grab a few more towels..." There was an open market with stalls offering different wares. "We've plenty of towels..." said Dwight, confused. Caroline looked up at the sky, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Oh yes. Of course, but it might not be unreasonable to 'forget' some towels up there, when we take our leave..." Dwight and Hugh smiled. "They like color! Make sure they are colorful!" Dwight called out after her.

Ross and Dem, so often content to swim nude when on their own, had no swimsuits. Ross wore cut off blue jeans and Dem wore a cotton dress and knickers for they really had nothing else. Ross, long legged and shirtless, Dem's stalky legs showing at the knee. They wore their wedding rings on a necklace chain. This was the first time Dwight, Caroline and Hugh could see them for what they were, so often hidden under their shirts. They waved from the fountain bed as they saw their guests approach. Laden with towels and blankets and two wicker baskets, Dwight and Caroline and Hugh brightened with smiles and quickened their pace, excited to have a nice visit as if they might have been of an age to the Poldarks. In their fast friendship they might have been of an age, the Poldarks older, Hugh and the Enyses younger, with no inequality between them. Ross and Dem came forward to help relieve them of their picnic things and Hugh had a sudden thought of C.S. Lewis' Narnia story. Ross, a fawn. Dem as Lucy, the youngest Penvensie sibling who found a magical land by walking into a wardrobe. In this case, the Narnians had come out of the wardrobe to spend time with two Sons Of Adam and a Daughter Of Eve in this wild, beautiful place, with these two wild, beautiful kids...

"Incredible..." sighed Caroline. Ross and Dem led them to a pool of water surrounded by flat panels of rock and flowering vines, a sloping hill that led to a grove of trees. A river's rushing could be heard nearby and a meadow leading to another wooded area was a perfect place to lay blankets and feast upon their victuals. Dwight hung back because he wanted to take pictures. Then he put his camera back in its case, put it in a basket with the picnic things and jumped in to happy applause. They swam and lay about the rocks. The boys mugged for Caroline's picture taking, pretending to be muscle men in the water. Dem and Caroline romping and splashing about, had the treasured, happy sensation of feeling what it might be like to have a sister to play with. It remained unsaid but, somehow a conspiratorial sympathy shimmered between them, felt by both. They all had a very good time in the water.

A jumble of sneakers and espadrilles on the grass. Shouting and laughing. Running about, drying off, playing blind man's bluff in the meadow, with one of Caroline's scarves as a blindfold, like a primary school playtime. The grown ups were as barefoot as their hosts. Dried off and then laying about like sultans and princesses on the picnic blankets. The Enyses had a tremendously large cured sausage, grapes, heavenly bread, crusty and fresh. There were olives and figs. There were two blood oranges, each wrapped in crinkled wax paper with a picture of a pierrot clown, jumping over an orange, like playing leapfrog. The fruit was sweet, passing them from hand to hand, each claiming orange segments and grapes until they were eaten up. The sausage was addicting. The Poldarks had eggs, for they kept their own chickens. Meat was a rare treat. The rich taste of garlic and peppercorns so roughly chopped they were crunched upon in chewing. Pearls of bland white fat dotted between chewy bits of pressed pork. Hugh, Dwight and Caroline smiled to see Ross and Dem nearly crosseyed in their enjoyment of it. There was mineral water in tall glass bottles. There were lashings of fizzy lemonade in small, pale blue, glass bottles. Here, Hugh's Swiss army knife was very useful. The crimped metal caps were no match for it. They ate. Lay sated, watching the natural world around them, talking of places they'd been. The Poldarks had been in many of the same countries Hugh and the Enyses had been. Occasionally they were expelled from France and would cycle through other parts of Europe then sneak back into France by a different country's border. Quick glances between the grown ups that Ross and Dem, in their rapturous enjoyment of having eaten so much sausage, did not notice. The romance of their vagabond youth had faltered in some of those stories. It was worrying to think of them, so young, trying to evade the expulsions. Why? Why run about among a stateless band of homeless kids? What happened to their parents? Hugh, brought things round by reciting a poem. A leveler. They were having a happy summer day, here and now and the Poldarks were living in Italy. The past, however questionable, worrying, should not derail the fun they were having. The Enyses, too, decided to set aside that moment of doubt, be in the moment of a pretty day with good friends. Draped across their blankets, enjoying the sun, and the air, and each other, Hugh lay on his back, head laying over his arms and spoke to the clouds in the sky,

If I make the lashes dark

And the eyes more bright

And the lips more scarlet,

Or ask if all be right

From mirror after mirror,

No vanity's displayed:

I'm looking for the face I had

Before the world was made.

What if I look upon a man

As though on my beloved,

And my blood be cold the while

And my heart unmoved?

Why should he think me cruel

Or that he is betrayed?

I'd have him love the thing that was

Before the world was made.

They listened to the poem. There came murmurs of praise, appreciation for the poem itself and space Hugh's recitation provided. A leveler. They felt closer, somehow. The silence need not be filled. They enjoyed birdsong and the liquid sounds of the river. The friendship between them deepened within the silence. Laying quiet in the sun. Feeling the pleasant, dreamy fatigue they all felt in their limbs from so much physical play was a joy. A shadow of memory of the happiness of childhood for Hugh and Dwight and Caroline. The happiness of the present for the Poldarks. Their childhood joys were lived now, enjoyed now and their friendship was bound within in that joy. What happiness the Poldarks had in their dollhouse life now held fast between five individuals. It was a heady, pure feeling.

Dem mentioned that there were raspberries growing on the far side of the meadow. Perhaps their guests might like to pick some? This was seen as a good idea. They went back to the folly to retrieve Ross' guitar, and a pan of fresh cream that Desdemona produced that morning. Caroline, back in her kaftan, Dwight back in his shorts, Hugh with his shorts back on. They remained shirtless, like Ross, because why not? The Poldarks remained as they were. They left the cream, in its covered pot, and the guitar by the blankets. Ross led a happy chatting band of raspberry hunters to the area Dem had found. Bright green leaves in pretty tufts presenting bright, red raspberries in masses of clumps on tall cane stalks. Tart and sweet, fragrant and delicious. They talked and laughed and picked many berries. They brought them back, in pans and bowls. They set picnic things back in the baskets and raspberries to take back with them. Ross picked up his guitar and told Dem to bring the cream. Caroline followed bearing a bowl of raspberries and they went to sit by the river. The Poldarks' intentions would be fun, but a bit messy. Dwight, Caroline and Hugh were persuaded to choose berries to eat, dipping them straight into the liquid cream with their fingers and scoop the lot of it into their mouths. They knelt around the bowl of berries, so fragrant and red and the pot of cream. They took turns, eating raspberries and cream with their fingers. Catching the drops before they fell into their mouths in a satisfying greediness. Blots of cream falling to the grass. Blots of cream falling into the bowl. Turning one's head at strange angles. Near, everyone near enough to hear breathing and chewing and slurping and laughing. Near. Near enough that the scent of their wet hair warmed and dried by the sun was evident. A knot of good friends becoming an living organism of pleasure in a pagan sort of greedy ritual. A kneeling coven of shirtless men and the pretty dresses of the women, crouched together in the sun, licking their fingers, sucking their thumbs, eating up the fruit and finding a sensual pleasure in this enterprise. Cream so fresh. Berries so ripe. Friends falling upon their feast like animals and dearly loving it. They ate everything up and washed their hands in the river. They sang songs as Ross played guitar. They sensed the sun's position change in the sky. The day was waning. With the unspoken disappointment of not wanting it to end but knowing it must, they gathered towels they left to dry in the branches of trees, gathered up the blankets and baskets and returned to the folly. Ross and Dem walked their guests all the way back down to the car. After hugs and admonishments that they might as well let some of the wet towels dry at the folly, they got in the car and drove off. Ross and Dem waved, with beaming smiles, their sun dried hair and long legs getting smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot Fun In The Summertime, Sly And The Family Stone 1969
> 
> All: End of the spring and here she comes back  
> Hi Hi Hi Hi there  
> Them summer days, those summer days
> 
> That's when I had most of my fun, back  
> High high high high there  
> Them summer days, those summer days
> 
> Rose: I "cloud nine" when I want to
> 
> Freddie: Out of school, yeah
> 
> Larry: County fair in the country sun
> 
> Sly: And everything, it's true, ooh yeah
> 
> All: Hot fun in the summertime x 4
> 
> All: First of the fall and then she goes back  
> Bye bye bye bye there  
> Them summer days, those summer days
> 
> Rose: "Boop-boop-ba-boop-boop" when I want to
> 
> Freddie: Out of school, yeah
> 
> Larry: County fair in the country sun
> 
> Sly: And everything, it's true, ooh yeah
> 
> All: Hot fun in the summertime x 4
> 
> Frogging trim is lengths of woven cord looped and arranged in ornate patterns and sewn into place on fabric
> 
> Before The World Was Made, William Butler Yeats 1933
> 
> Eating cream and raspberries with one's fingers was an extremely pretty scene in the 1967 Bo Widerberg film, Elivra Madigan.


	7. Sleeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia

Rainy days were more difficult. All the chores must be performed, as ever, but the punishing sheets of rain today made it a trial. Ross milked Desdemona in her shed, making note of where leaks needed to be mended in the roof. One could feel drops falling, see them better with so much rain. He balanced a plate over the milk bucket to keep rain out of it, they hadn't any sort of lid on their buckets. He set it on the floor indoors, a brief flash of movement, like an apparition. Dem barely saw him before he dashed out again to tend Seamus. She lifted the plate, carefully, for a puddle of rain water shimmered in the upturned plate. She removed some milk with a tin dipper, to heat it on the stove, and let the bucket sit, waiting for the cream to lift. Ross frowned over the hay they had. They would have to cut much more if their horse and cow were to be looked after properly in the winter. They had not the money to buy extra feed. He returned to the house with eggs and a tired smile. They had love and each other but days like this felt tiring. They only had so many clothes to use, had to balance drying wet clothes carefully. They tried to keep from having too many garments wetted at once. Dem came away from the stove and rubbed a towel over Ross' head with care and a tender smile. He bent forward as Dem dried his hair, smiling into her eyes with gratitude. She placed a kiss on his nose, her eyes sparkling with mirth and returned to the stove. Ross' smile, his look of love after her as she walked back to the stove might have been a kiss of his own for her. He peeled off his jeans, so soaked they were a struggle to remove, and they let them hang near the stove from a peg on the wall. She handed Ross a tin cup of hot milk. He stood by her, half dressed, gulped it down and set the cup down. "Thank you, Dem..." He stood by the curtain that obscured their bed and removed his shirt. "We should get robes like that one Caroline had on, we could lay about like 'The Arabian Nights' and spare our other clothes..." Ross chuckled. Dem smiled at him. Looked at him fondly. He puttered about near their bed, finding something dry to wear from the wardrobe. Slender and graceful in his nakedness, used to their little house and their little ways. Pulling a shirt over his head, dragging a pair of dry jeans on. His long legs. She chuckled over his backside disappearing into his jeans. Ross was a beauty, such a wonderful sight to see...

Tabitha Bethia settled on Ross' lap as he sat on the daybed. Dem lay on her front, drawing in a notebook and the day was quiet. Garrick lay on the floor and smelled of wet fur but it was not something they minded. Rain continued. Ross and Dem were a little out of sorts, a little ill at ease. 'We must cut more hay,' thought Dem. Hugh had mentioned that the winters were stark and staying in the valley during the winter was unwise. The Poldarks loved their home. They'd looked forward to being snowbound with their animal family as proof that they really had a home. They promised themselves that they would wear their wedding rings on their fingers, come springtime. They would hibernate like all the other living things in this wild place and emerge in spring as husband and wife. Truly safe, wearing their rings with no fear for they were a proper family with a proper home like everyone else. Not crouching in corners, not hiding. A small sense of doubt was forming. Ross petted the cat. Dem kept drawing. The rain stopped and they went walking. Separated for a time to relieve themselves. Climbed to a higher cliff together upon reuniting. They sat at the mouth of a cave, not minding the damp, looking across the valley at an imposing wall of trees. Tremendously tall trees, evergreen and proud. Grown shoulder to shoulder and up, and up. Rolling clouds of misting drizzle danced forward on the wind. A pretty mist across the trees. A soft veil drifting past on the wind as crows flew into the spray. Some flying in gentle arcs, some swift as a dart, forward and sure. Nature in its triumph. Were Ross and Dem equal to this place? Equal to the birds and beasts who lived in the valley? Was their stove enough? Was their wood going to stay dry enough to burn? Ross cut a great deal of firewood, was it enough? The Poldarks had stayed at a garret, for a time. They lived on the streets, slept in doorways and other makeshift shelters. Ross and Dem became part of an argot chattering universe of street children, wandering throughout Europe. Runaway kids from many different countries and yet very much the same. Trying to survive. Living in the streets is difficult. Houses were difficult too, in their own way. One must tend a home, if a home is to serve. The Poldarks loved each other and their animal family and wanted a home. Wanted that proof that they had just as much right to walk, head held high, without fear, as anyone. They longed to feel safe and safety, to them both, was a home. They would wear their rings and not be afraid of having them stolen. Not be afraid for they had a place to belong. If they can survive the winter...

They had a quiet meal. They did not want to broach the subject of winter even though it lay heavy on both their minds. They worried about making the other worry and both avoided speaking of it. There was dry pasta, boiled soft, shaped like little discs. Dem cooked cubes of onion and courgette in hot cream, mixed in the pasta and the last piece of sausage from the picnic. She chopped it into tiny, tiny pieces. Tiny, gorgeous chunks of it in every bite. Ross laid two shallow soup plates, two spoons and two tin cups on the table. They still had a bottle of mineral water. Even as they both were preoccupied, thinking about wintering in the folly, they enjoyed their dinner in gratitude. A hot meal, filled with fresh vegetables from their garden and cream from Desdemona and rich with meat for they had found good friends in Caroline and Dwight and Hugh. Ross went out and brought back more water in a bucket. They poured out some, to wash before bed. They poured out some to wash the dishes. They poured some in two small pans, on the floor, for Garrick and Tabitha Bethia. Then Ross went to draw a second bucket for extra. Ross played guitar seated on the daybed. Dem sat opposite and let her feet rest on his knees. A soft weight that Ross adored feeling. At length, they prepared for bed. It was difficult to rest. Ross wondered if a second stack of fire wood, laid in front of the first, at the far wall of their extension would take up too much room. Dem wondered if it would be wise to go into town and buy a little extra of needful things, that they not run out of things in the winter. They wanted to find solutions. They wanted to present them to each other as fixed ideas, a plan. They wanted to be able to free the other of doubt. Care for her husband. Care for his wife. Look after their animals and each other and earn the right to wear their rings on their fingers come springtime. "Can't sleep?" asked Ross. She lay on her back and he had his arm around her waist. She sighed. "I'm not feeling sleepy..." Ross smiled in the dark. He strove to keep Dem from worrying, but she was worrying. "Turn to me." he said, quietly. Dem rolled over to face him and he held her close. Dem smiled in the dark. She strove to keep Ross from worrying, but he was worrying. She nestled her forehead near his. Ross planted a peck of a kiss on her mouth.

"Religieuse," whispered Ross.

Dem gave him a squeeze of a hug and a sigh of gratitude. Others counted sheep to bring slumber forward. Ross and Dem recited all the pastries they could name. So often used to sleeping in shifts in the street, the Poldarks found the novelty of just going to sleep together without worrying lovely. But old habits die hard. Sometimes they were sleepless. This was a game they devised to relax. They would speak of the sweets they had adored from the patisseries, it was a true happiness to think upon.

"Éclair," said Dem, stroking Ross' back with her hand.

"Canelé," smiled Ross, snuggling closer.

"Kouign-Amann,"

"Saint-Honoré,"

"Mille-feuille,"

"Tarte au citron..."

They took turns, whispering all the pastries they could think of as they lay close. They began to tire. Small shifts of movement brought them closer together and Dem gave Ross a tender kiss.

"Nicéens..." smiled Dem, eyes closed.

Ross chuckled and kissed her forehead, whispered against Dem's forehead, lovingly, sleepily.

"Palmier, Sweetness. Palmier..."

The Poldarks slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleeper, John Cale 1985
> 
> Your mailbox is always empty  
> And your landlord always complains  
> And you try to forget your past  
> But it's just adding to your pain  
> And it's time for one more cigarette
> 
> Yes, I slept on your satin pillows  
> They felt like a second skin  
> You needn't have looked so helpless there  
> I was the moth stuck on your pin
> 
> Sleeping, I am the sleeper  
> Sleeping, I am the sleeper
> 
> Oh it used to feel so right  
> Everything seemed new  
> I haven't changed  
> It isn't me that's what's wrong with you
> 
> Sleeping, I am the sleeper
> 
> The sun came up and you'd come back  
> The door was open wide  
> I should have slammed it in your face  
> I should have shot you in the back  
> That's what Jesus would have done  
> If Satan had come  
> And looked him in the eye and said  
> "You're my kind of guy, why don't you come away with me?  
> Come away with me"  
> Cause I love you, I love ya, I love ya - that's what she said  
> I love ya, love ya  
> I'd rather speak to Satan himself
> 
> I love you, I love you, I love you  
> I love you, I'm the sleeper
> 
> Garret: attic room
> 
> Argot: slang, many of the kids who were not French spoke in slang more often than proper French, a mixture of their language of origin, broken English and French based argot, relying upon on the spot translations for proper French from the fluent kids on the street, especially in the police round ups
> 
> Pasta shaped like little discs: orecchiette have a flatish, concave shape somewhat like an ear
> 
> Courgette: zucchini
> 
> Nicéens: a mysterious petit four that has photographic evidence in an old cookbook but I have never seen in real life. A small cake of indeterminate flavor, coated in a glassy smooth fondant tinted lavender with ground candied violet petals, not speckled, a smooth, uniform, pale purple color. Ross and Dem are sentimental over it because they shared one as their "wedding cake". Their nickname on the Paris streets was "palmier", a flat pastry made of sugared puff pastry with their ends curled towards the middle in a spiral. These are also called "elephant ears" Ross and Dem were never separate, always together. The kids named them "palmier" because the two spiral halves are well delineated but they are fused together.


	8. Teach The Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bountiful

There was not much in the way of traffic in the small towns below the valley. Cars and huge trucks, bound for other places would roll through, now and again. Young children often played in the street. There would be a designated watcher on either end, on the lookout. As a vehicle could be seen coming near, the child would shout, "Car!"(in Italian) and they would part like the Red Sea, run to wait on the sides of the street and wait for the traffic to pass. Some were playing out because they were not yet school age. Many were Romani children of slightly older ages who were on their own and eschewed school. On this day, Ross and Dem took it upon themselves to lay in some provisions to help meet their winter needs. They also needed to find the Rom encampment rumored to be past the town. Seamus had thrown a shoe and the man who shoed horses in town would not help them. After being told they did not have enough money to meet the cost, he scoffed when they tried to barter the difference with eggs. Ross did not dare try to nail it back on himself, he was out of his depth, didn't know how. He did not want to harm Seamus. The Romani travellers, in every country the Poldarks had cause to meet them, were very canny with horses. They might well help Seamus for the sake of money and some eggs. Ross led their horse at a slow walk with Dem alongside singing to the sky in a merry mood. She wore a long denim skirt and one of Ross' linen shirts. They left the cliff and took their time, there was no need to rush. No need for shoes either. To spare their shoes wear, that they not be too run down when shoes were necessary, they often went barefoot. It was a warm summer day and a young man and woman carrying a basket of eggs, walked the side of the road, shoeless, with their horse, without haste.

As they got into town, walking the shoulder of main road, a crowd of children walked along in an excited riot of shouting. Ross and Dem were peculiar. They were foreigners, but not rich. They smiled and did not shoo them away or smack them. They were poor game for begging, but they tried their luck just the same. The Poldarks laughed and Ross gave the reins to Dem, continuing to walk Seamus as he turned the pockets of his jeans inside out. They flapped out their white cotton interiors in lonely, empty tufts. There was also a horseshoe tucked in the waistband of his jeans, half in, half out, as if bearing a lucky horseshoe might attract wealth. The children laughed to see this gorgio man as penniless as anyone and they all enjoyed this rich joke. Ross had the money for Seamus' shoeing in his back pocket. Dem, with the sort of pantomime movements of which street children are so adept, managed to request that they be shown where the encampment was and the children were excited to help. They walked ahead, the Poldarks and Seamus followed and other children began to follow them. Some called out, "Circensi?!", wondering if the dark haired boy and the red headed girl walking with a horse were part of a circus. It was a noisy parade, made louder by Dem singing, at the top of her lungs, a Romany nursery rhyme she had learned, phonetically, in Paris. The children shrieked with glee. They joined in as Ross tapped in time by slapping his thigh as they walked Seamus closer to the wasteland area where the Rom were permitted to stay. The commotion drew many of the adults to walk up to meet them. The horse, the crowd of their own children and these strange, grinning kids were an intriguing sight.

Ross stepped away from Seamus, put a loving hand on Dem's shoulder and in an interchange of broken English and gesture asked if Seamus might be reshod for money and a basket of fresh eggs. The men spoke among themselves and excepted eggs alone. Even as Ross offered them the money in his back pocket saved for this purpose, it was gently returned. Ross nodded his thanks. That children surrounded them in a happy swarm, struck the Romani men as proof of their friendliness. Also, the adults surmised that this lad and his woman, clearly, 'lived where they stood'. They called home where ever they lay their head. They saw kinship with them. These young people were thin and wore no shoes. These two had seen as least as much as they all had in their travels. What money they had the men felt they should keep. That they offered eggs, offered nourishment, was a kind gesture. It was enough. Dem, familiar with traveller ways, sat with the women and children. She waited for Ross as young children rushed around Dem to have her meet their baby dolls and inspect other, much loved, possessions as the women sat with Dem and they all had tea. A visitor was a pleasant excuse to set chores aside and relax a bit when they would not have otherwise. The women refused to take the basket, emptying it of the eggs and handing it back to Dem. These two young people needed all that they had, even as they were willing to give things away, thought the women of the camp. They liked Dem. The girl was friendly, modest, was sweet to the children and could 'talk with her hands' make herself understood even though there were language barriers. Ross led Seamus past the caravans and laundry lines to a grass stubbled area full of rangey horses and an older man who looked upon Ross in good humor.

After careful examination of all four hooves, the old man was insistent upon replacing both the thrown shoe and the one on his back left foot, Seamus was well looked after. The man heated, shaped on an anvil and plunged into a bucket of water to cool two horseshoes that fit Seamus correctly, fastened them to his hooves and told Ross through gesture that Ross should keep Seamus' thrown shoe for luck. They even gave the horse water to drink and oats to eat. As they let Seamus enjoy his snack, Ross took a drink with the men. He gave a little cough as he smiled his appreciation of it having knocked the small glass of liquor back with aplomb. It was a vicious sort of firewater. They patted him on the back, not to stop Ross' coughing but to laud the youth as a 'man's man'. They gave a cheer as Ross raised his emptied glass in triumph with a crinkle eyed smile that charmed them. That and the sight of his bare feet among their own as they all stood about in the grass. Ross was no stranger to the street and looked after his horse. This lad wasn't too proud to drink with them and his woman sat with no airs or graces among their women and children. He had a star tattooed on one of his fingers. The men of the camp approved of him. They shook hands and walked him over to collect his woman. Ross approached the women, the men of the camp at his back, showed their approval of him, that Ross and his woman were welcome friends. Ross greeted them with a bow and Dem took his outstretched hand. He lead her to Seamus, brought to the edge of the camp by the old man. They gave their thanks to them all, Ross shook the old man's hand once more and led their newly shod horse by his reins, leading the crowd of kids back to the town, in a good natured parade of laughing and singing. The people of the encampment were pleased to have made the Poldarks acquaintance. 

Back in town, Ross and Dem came to unspoken agreement that they should find some sort of treat to give the children. Ross and Dem knew children of the streets, too often, had to grow up fast while their hearts remained young. They stopped at a stall that sold toys and found inexpensive bags of colorful rubber balloons for sale. They bought two bags of balloons and were then shooed away brusquely. Two strange looking foreign kids without shoes and a rag tag army of street children at their knees were not the sort the stall owner wanted hanging around. Ross led Seamus to the side of the road to wait with Dem. He gestured the children to follow him around the corner of a building because Seamus might be made nervous if he conducted his balloon giving too near the horse. Ross climbed up on a pile of fat burlap sacks, holding coffee beans by the smell of them, sat down and, patiently, started blowing up balloons. Enough air that they could be played with, but not so much that they might pop too easily. He knotted them closed and one after another, like a long haired, barefoot Croesus, enthroned in blue jeans and a tee shirt on a stout pile of coffee sacks, Ross offered every child their own colorful balloon with a cheerful grin or a happy smile. It took twenty minutes and only three remained in the bag after all the kids were taken care of. Ross knew when his job was complete because the children each rushed into the street to run about and play catch and bop them about and the happy crowd around him thinned. The last two children were brother and sister. The boy went to join his fellows with a skip in his step and the little girl, with impish brown eyes and a shy smile, disappeared around the corner having dipped Ross a curtsy, hugging her balloon in her arms. Dem's laughing lilted over the din of their play. Ross got down from the pile of coffee bags, to join her, as a door opened. The owner of the café, miffed over this ruffian crawling all over his coffee beans, shouted some choice words over his head from the alley doorway in Italian. Ross bowed in his direction, half cheeky, half honest gratitude to thank the café owner for the use of his coffee sacks. "Grazie." said Ross. That pulled a wry, grudging smile out of the café owner. He flapped his arm in Ross' direction with an amused bark of a laugh that seemed to say, 'Oh, go on with you, you scamp!'. 

Ross returned to Dem and kissed her hand to the happy shrieks of the children. For the travellers it was seen as cheeky and sweet. A kiss on the cheek or lips might be seen as rude, too forward. He helped her mount Seamus, able to ride him now that his shoes were sound. Dem sat on Seamus' back with her basket over her arm. The Poldarks waved goodbye. They had stayed at the encampment for a bit of a while. They would shop for supplies some other day. They were going home. A look passed between them as she looked down from the horse and he looked up at her. With a foolishly wide grin Ross said,

"Shall we go home?" Dem smiled her most brilliant smile.

"Yes, Ross." she said.

George Warleggan was leafing through papers when he realized the car had not moved for a couple of minutes. He knocked on the barrier between him and the driver. A small window slid aside. "Why have we stopped?!" The driver gestured to the windshield with an apologetic shrug. "Forgive Signore Warleggan! L' lingoro! Jam up of the traffic!" George was astonished. "How on earth could there be a traffic jam here?!" George rolled down his side window and looked down the road. A bunch of children were running about with balloons in front of the truck ahead. They were moving to the shoulders of the road but not fast enough. George put his head back in, annoyed. "Why aren't they using the horn? Honk your horn! Make them move!" The driver looked surprised. "No, no Signore Warleggan! The street children are as wild as cats but they are moving. The truck driver cannot use the horn, nor I! We cannot frighten the horse! It bears a lady!" George looked at him crossly! "What?!" At that moment the kid from the folly walked past, very near the Warleggan vehicle, along the side of the road with his girlfriend up on the back of the horse he was leading. Walking about in tatters, no shoes on their feet! The girl with a basket on her arm. Beggars! No doubt the girl sold flowers or favors... Those sort of vagrants were probably no strangers to earning their crust in the oldest way possible, the pair of them... George felt this situation as symptomatic of his relationship with these two. They were a damned nuisance! The boy was walking through the streets with no shoes! The dangling, dirty feet of the girl on the horse... They were as feral as Tankard had suggested! The truck moved. Then they moved forward. George Warleggan was cross. The local children, crowding on the sides of the road, so happy with their balloons, to George, were a grotesque passel of baby beggars. The kids in the folly? No better. Worse perhaps for they were English and conducted themselves with no sense of decent behavior. These two were annoying him. He would have them gone. They are the wrong sort, vagrant street rats. One would think the locals would bristle at having those two skulking around the area... They needed teaching a lesson. They needed to be turned out. They shall be taught a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teach the Children, Crosby, Stills and Nash 1970
> 
> You who are on the road  
> Must have a code that you can live by  
> And so become yourself  
> Because the past is just a good-bye.  
> Teach your children well,  
> Their father's hell did slowly go by,  
> And feed them on your dreams  
> The one they picks, the one you'll know by.  
> Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry,  
> So just look at them and sigh  
> And know they love you.
> 
> And you, of tender years,  
> Can't know the fears that your elders grew by,  
> And so please help them with your youth,  
> They seek the truth before they can die.
> 
> Teach your parents well,  
> Their children's hell will slowly go by,  
> And feed them on your dreams  
> The one they picks, the one you'll know by.
> 
> Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry,  
> So just look at them and sigh and know they love you. 
> 
> gorgio: term for a person who is not Rom, Roma
> 
> Croesus: Croesus was the king of Lydia who, according to Herodotus, reigned for 14 years: from 560 BC until his defeat by the Persian king Cyrus the Great in 546 BC. Croesus was renowned for his wealth
> 
> grazie: thank you
> 
> Earning their crust the oldest way possible: prostitution


	9. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lady is her own protection

"Who are they?"

Thought the count, watching the dance floor from his private table. In the crush of dancers, two stood out. A dark haired boy and a red headed girl, both with long limbs and long hair, sparing and stalking around each other like a bull and matador. Each dancing well apart and then coming back together with a teasing, Mona Lisa smile that was seductive and sly, then, suddenly, a laughing grin. They were deeply sexual and blamelessly innocent simultaneously and it was fascinating to watch. The locals had a shading of this attitude in their dancing but these two were clearly from somewhere else...

  
In the summer nights of these getaway days, the rich in their rented villas and the aristos who lived in their ancestral grand homes often "slummed". Went out to the nightspots where locals danced and drank and let their hair down. It was a fun novelty for the well heeled to feel that they too were as devil may care as the locals. More authentic. More real. The music hotter, the drinks stronger and the chance to feel like insiders, not just buying a bit of gated paradise in a backward chain of fishing villages. The Enyses were not immune to seeing what could be seen in nightlife and Hugh knew the clubs where the dancing was non-stop and the owners strove to attract the rich without losing the local color. A simulacrum of a local scene, tidy, enough but not too much grit for the jet set scenesters. Ross and Dem were invited to come along and were enjoying themselves. For Hugh, Dwight and Caroline, who could not be said to be poor dancers, it was a revelation to dance alongside the Poldarks. They first came upon them dancing to an old fashioned song near their folly home. Sweet and charming, like two dolls in a ballroom. Here to modern pop music, in the shifting colored lights that shimmered over them all, Ross and Dem let another aspect of their Parisian street life come to light. They learned to dance all night in working-class boîtes among the other "street rats" and dancers from Cameroon, Algeria. From Senegal, Nigeria. L'Escale, Rose Rouge, Bal Négre, clubs where dance was the thing, the only reason to breathe and the night spooled forward in a sinuous, writhing mass of bodies. The count, at his customary table watched them with interest. They were in the company of Lord Falmouth's nephew, that recommended them as somewhat different to the local dancers. Vetted.

Ross and Dem danced as Satisfaction blared through the club and the shifting lights and flashes of smile between them and their friends made them happy. To dance for joy, like the old nights in Paris. Not to African music as they did in France, but their dancing fit within the pop music that played. Hugh and the Enyses danced well, in the way one learns to from music programs, from attending a school dance, out and about in the clubs. They saw their own limitations in dance next to their young friends, limitations of their own making and, slowly, like a timid peek over a parapet proving all's clear, began to learn to dance like Ross and Dem. The Poldarks stalked around each other in tight figure eights, then danced face to face like a competition, they drew closer like a seduction but beamed smiles that could not be said to be 'come hither'. They danced for joy, used every part of their bodies, twists of the ankles, bent at the knee, using their arms, their hands. They danced with their friends the way one did in the Parisian clubs. Ross faced off Hugh and Dwight. Dem faced off Caroline. They would turn and then Ross faced off Caroline, Dem faced off Dwight and Hugh. It was friendship but, among the well heeled, not to say stodgy, vacationers their was a layer of sensuality that made it provocative. Then one chided themselves for thinking such a thing for they were smiling like joyful, guiless kids. For their friends it was like being invited to touch a hot stove and not get burnt. Ross and Dem were not dancing to seduce anyone. They were seduced already. The music led their steps and guided their movements, held them in its grasp. Hugh and Dwight and Caroline were beginning to understand how to pass through, into the rhythms around you, and brought through to a shamanic trance. To pierce through to the other side of night as Ross and Dem continued to exude happiness in the dance floor and bring their companions ever forward with them.

With a laughing collapse, they sat at a table. The music was loud and they'd danced for ages. Hugh and the Enyses were enchanted for Caroline dared to bend her back behind her, like Dem, head back until she could see the other side of the club. It was fun. Hugh and Dwight squared off, against each other, and could be said to 'have moves'. They danced in an entirely different way and thought it wonderful. They considered what they might like to drink when a waiter came to their table with champagne in a bucket, followed by a second bearing glasses on a tray. Dwight laughed as he leaned back in his chair and took Caroline's hand, kissed her hand as she and Dem giggled over their talking and Ross let Dem rest her legs, crossed at the ankles, across his lap. One might be forgiven for believing they were already merry from drink. Dwight chuckled, "You are incorrigible, Hugh!" Hugh laughed too but said, "I didn't order champagne!" The waiter handed Hugh a calling card. "Compliments of the gentleman, Signore..." Hugh's eyebrows lifted with a smile and he turned to look. The count gave a nod in their direction. Hugh gave him a brief salute as he nodded back. "Well, well, well! This is a present from Count Schön!" The Poldarks, still sparkle eyed from enjoying dancing leaned closer to hear, the music was loud. Caroline leaned closer as well. "Who is Count Schön?" she asked Caroline. "He has the castle on the hill you were admiring last week..." "Oh!" Caroline remembered seeing the place. Like a picture in a fairy book, up on a hill. Hugh watched the waiters pour with a smile. "He and Uncle are well acquainted, I've met him dozens of times! Drink and be merry for clearly we've been summoned!" They had a toast. One must toast to something when champagne materializes from nowhere.

"To flaming nights and flaming friends!" said Hugh with a chuckle.

"Hear, hear!"

After making short work of the champagne, they joined the count at his table. One could hear better, the music was audible but not the din of being close to the dancefloor. After Hugh introduced his friends the Count invited them to his house for an informal gathering. "I do like a party, now and again! Please, Hugh, I extend to your Uncle as well! We have a good amount of records, you must dance at the party! I should like merriment to brighten our Saturday night! Being near youth keeps one young! I'm sure Lord Falmouth would say the same!"

In the car Caroline asked, "When the Count says 'at my house'...?" Hugh grinned. "Yes, my dear. He means the castle." She and Dem bounced about in the back seat as if they were children told they would go to an amusement park. "Oh! It's that pretty!" said Dem. Dwight thought a bit. "How should we arrange things? Would you like to come to us that afternoon, Ross?" Hugh spoke up. "You should collect the Poldarks and come to Uncle's!" Hugh tilted his chin talking to Ross' reflection in the rear view mirror. "We can visit and relax and then go all together with Uncle. He'd love to meet you and Dem! We can get you back to the folly in the morning. Desdemona will barely know you've gone!" Hugh, Dwight and Caroline were learning how to fit themselves into the Poldarks bucolic life. Ross and Dem could visit overnight but could not idle away through the next day for the cow needed milking along with tending Seamus and the chickens. Ross grinned. He was excited to see the inside of the castle too. It stood proud, on a hill, and looked magical. "We'd be delighted!" said Ross.

Lord Falmouth was as taken with Ross and Dem as his nephew. They were vibrant and full of life and good friends to Hugh in their short acquaintance. They all made their way to the castle. Ross and Dem rode with the Enyses as they followed Hugh and Lord Falmouth who deigned to simply ride with Hugh rather than utilize his own driver. Now out of ear shot to the others in Hugh's car his uncle said. "I should not tell you how to live, Hugh, but pity is close to love. Are you certain these two are, well, on the up and up? These sort of street people look for opportunities. You should beware of being a mark! They may be pulling at your heartstrings to get what they can get..." Hugh frowned. "Uncle! I do understand what you're saying but Ross and Dem are not predatory, not looking to gain what they can from a sob story." Hugh paused and Lord Falmouth waited. "They are the most pure hearted people you would ever hope to meet, Uncle! Truly. They lived on the streets and are no strangers to prison. That's a fact. They said as much themselves." Hugh considered the Poldarks, his summer, the glorious summer that he and Caroline an Dwight were a part of. A golden summer... "They are pure hearted, Uncle. That life did not make them hard. They're like children from a fairy tale..." His uncle now feared that Hugh had been taken in by these two. The feverish sort of romance in this defense would be just what an unscrupulous grifter would want from a 'soft touch'. "Oh, Hugh..." began Lord Falmouth. "Uncle! I understand you but you must leave cynicism aside. Ross and Dem are not a pair of thieves, looking for what they can get from others. They are lovely, Uncle. Innocent. I would not begrudge them aid. They need help. They expect to winter over in that folly!" "What?!" His uncle was surprised. Hugh sighed. "They lived out on the street, on their own wits for years. They believe having a roof over their head is good enough. I don't have to tell you what a poor idea that is!" "Indeed!" said Lord Falmouth. The castle was coming into view. "Their name is Poldark?" Hugh nodded. "Yes, Uncle." Lord Falmouth knit his brows. "Not a particularly common name, is it? He's English. Is the boy a relation of the Poldarks of Trenwith, do you think?" Hugh risked looking away from the road, briefly. " _Are_ there Poldarks in Cornwall? They are familiar with Cornwall but I did not pry..." Hugh's uncle nodded. They are an old family in the area, stones throw from Tregothan, really..." "Really?!" Hugh's London upbringing and love of Italy had him at an aside to what was, in truth, his family seat in Cornwall. Hugh and his uncle knit their brows in a manner that strengthened their family resemblance. "Could their be a familial connection, I wonder?" mused Hugh. "I worry over them in that folly. I do not know why they became runaways. They are wonderful people, Uncle! Such good kids! I wish for them to be better sorted. At some point I mean to talk it through with them. They mustn't be up on that cliff in the winter..." His Uncle nodded. "Folly indeed," He chuckled at his own joke, then said. "They have livestock, you say?" Hugh nodded. "A horse, a cow and chickens. There is a cat and a dog too." said Hugh. His uncle gave a derisive snort. "They'd not do well in a flat... Would they be persuaded to sell their animals?" Hugh saw, in his mind's eye, Ross give Desdemona a tender kiss on the forehead. "No, Uncle," sighed Hugh. "I can't imagine they would."

A very grand place. Like a film set but real. Ross and Dem were impressed by the villa the Enyses were renting. They were impressed by Lord Falmouth's elegant home. A castle is a castle though and they were excited to see suits of armor and shields and swords displayed in the halls as they walked to enter a huge area that would have been a foyer any where else but here was like a scene in a movie, knights and fair maidens might sweep down the staircase at any moment. They were welcomed by their host and released into the main room where the other guests were enjoying the casual gathering. Very connected, 'old guard' attendees. The families of means that congregated together for they were the 'proper' sort. Strands of royalty, industry and heritage converged but even these rarified people liked a bit of a bash. Count Schön was a lover of art and culture, happy to indulge his whims. He was pleased to have Hugh and his younger set to liven up this giant house. The summer crowd was often interesting and he liked to meet people. One of these people chatting in a self important manner to various guests was George Warleggan. He was surprised to see the kids from the folly in the company of the man and woman he'd meet at Lord Falmouth's dinner. Count Schön was chatting nearby and George was moved to ask, "Count Schön?" He turned, one can't be expected to remember everyone... The industrialist... "Ah, yes sir?" "Warleggan, sir. George Warleggan." The count nodded. George said, "Have you invited those young people as well, the red headed..." The count waved a hand in Ross and Dem's direction. "Oh yes! I saw them last week, dancing in a club. Exceptional dancing! I told them I should like to have them dance tonight, liven things up..." George nodded. "You should have a care..." The count looked puzzled. This Warleggan was a forward, pushy sort. "In what way?" George looked conspiratorial. "They are vagrants. They may well lower the tone of your evening..." The count, who would take Lord Falmouth's nephew's opinion before a stranger said, "We'll see. If you will excuse me..." "Of course." George inclined his head in politeness. It was a fun evening. The guests were blue blooded, older but there was a lightness and vitality to the guests that was interesting. These were the sort that bought paintings and fine art. These were the sort that sought beauty, after the war. Wanted culture and art to salve the horrors of that time. Ross and Dem were well liked. They met and talked with all sorts of interesting people. These older attendees liked these young people who seemed so bohemian and interesting. George nodded hello to the Enyses from afar, wanted to acknowledge them even as he didn't really know them that well. Maybe those kids spun them some sort of sob story, stealing crumbs from the holidaymakers' tables. Dwight was ill at ease. "George is not pleased to see the Poldarks..." Caroline took a sip of her drink. "I expect he will behave himself. He doesn't strike me as wanting to be seen as uncouth in front of other guests..."

The count was as good as his word and there were good records to play. He let his guests look among them and one of the servants played them in the order they were given to him. Ross and Dem were happy. Everyone was nice to them and George Warleggan had the tact to stay clear of them even as they caught him scowling in their direction. Lord Falmouth happened to be standing to the side, watching the vagrants dance with his nephew and the couple that had been to dinner. They were making a spectacle of themselves. Others began to dance. George thought it best to warn Lord Falmouth that they might be latching themselves to his nephew with bad intent. "Good evening, Lord Falmouth." They shook hands. "Good evening, Mr. Warleggan. Not a dancer?" George laughed lightly. "No I am afraid not. I noticed Hugh and his friends are dancing with my garden gnomes..." Lord Falmouth realized Warleggan meant the Poldarks. "They are up in that folly with a lease I believe...?" George nodded. "Yes, but I expect them to leave," George took a sip of his drink. "I shall raise that pigpen, once they've gone..." Lord Falmouth looked concerned. "What? You mean to knock down the hunting lodge?" George chuckled. "Is that what it is? Well, no matter. It's a nuisance to have those kids up there, or other tramps up there..." Lord Falmouth asked, "Did you purchase that land? I recall when we dined you spoke of it..." George flushed with pleasure. Lord Falmouth remembered their conversation, George was leaving his mark among the elite in the area. His plans would go forth, unfettered, with support from people like him. "I have not, as of yet. But it is likely by month's end I shall put forth the proposal and it is likely to be settled quickly. These towns want progress not stinking fishermen and hoards of beggar children about..." Lord Falmouth took a small sip of his drink. George spoke again. "It might do to warn your nephew about those two..." "Oh?" They looked at them in the midst of the other dancers, Count Schön smiling content at the opposite wall, seemingly happy to see his party going off as he had envisioned. George narrowed his eyes. "They are disreputable, he may find himself fleeced! The sort that cling to a tender hearted person and then drain them of all they have!" Having had quite enough of this conversation Lord Falmouth wanted to end it. He sought to when Demelza came rushing up to him with a mischievous grin and bright eyes. She wore little blue slippers, like a ballerina and a light blue dress that was long and very pretty. "Lord Falmou... Oh!" Dem was so intent on her mission she had not realized Mr. Warleggan stood with him. "Hello, Mr. Warleggan." He nodded. She turned to Lord Falmouth , apologetic looking. "Forgive me for interrupting..." Taken with the enthusiasm he'd seen as she approached, Lord Falmouth smiled. "We were just finished and I should like to know what had brought such a sparkle in your eye just now, madam." Dem bloomed once more. "Count Schön has dared me to ask you to dance! Will you dance with me?" Lord Falmouth laughed. "You are brave! I shall trod upon your toes and put my back out trying to dance like you young people!" Dem giggled. "The count has promised us a waltz!" Falmouth chuckled. He looked over to Count Schön and shared a merry look. He raised his glass to him, handed it to a servant and gave Dem his arm. "If you will excuse me, Mr. Warleggan, I have been summoned." George nodded his head. He watched them walk off. This girl was shameless. Throwing herself at even Falmouth's head!

Lord Falmouth walking Dem to the floor was seen as an amusement by the other guests. True the count's word, a waltz was played and Lord Falmouth partnered this friend of his nephew as others joined in around them. "You, waltz as well? I salute you, Mrs. Poldark!" She smiled. "Thank you, sir..." Lord Falmouth smiled. "It's no more than the truth..." She blinked winsomely. "I thank you for calling me 'Mrs. Poldark', Lord Falmouth." He released her to raise her arm, swing out, side by side, and then returned. "That is your name, is it not?" he asked. Dem smiled wider. "Yes, it is. It's just that I don't get to hear it very often, from other people. It made me happy to hear it..." Lord Falmouth laughed lightly.  
The night grew late. Ross made a point of avoiding Mr. Warleggan throughout the night. George, also, avoided Ross but something in him could not help antagonizing the Poldarks. He walked to Dem, with a curt nod of his head. "May I have this dance?" Dem blinked from surprise but felt it would be rude to refuse. "Yes, Mr. Warleggan." Dwight and Ross watched Dem walk to the floor with George Warleggan, she took a quick glance at Ross over her shoulder, ill at ease. Caroline, chatting to other guests on one of the sofas noticed this development and excused herself to go to Dwight and Ross as Hugh came over with his uncle from the other side of the room. Ross was not sure what to make of this. Perhaps he was being polite. Dem danced well, dispassionately. George was as no nonsense as she and it was a strange sight. Dem was at sea. He did not speak, made little eye contact with her. They might have been puppets or robots. The other dancers glided by, the music was nearing its end and George said, "Any takers?" Dem frowned. "Takers? I don't understand what you mean..." George stepped away to lift her arm as the dance ended. He held it still as he said, "Your boyfriend has... " Dem snatched her hand away. "My husband." Music started but people were watching the two of them now. Ross walked forward in time to hear George say, "Your 'husband' has dangled you about, like a piece of candy, to nearly every man in this room. Have you had any ta..." Dem's slap was strong enough that George turned his head. Count Schön and Lord Falmouth came forward. "What is the meaning of this!?" Dem glared at George. "He made an offensive remark..." said Dem. Ross came to stand by Dem. George looked at Ross and rolled his eyes. "I expect you'll throw a punch or something?" Ross said in a cool, almost bored voice. "There is no need. My wife seems to have given you what you deserve. She fights her own battles." The Count said angrily. "I will not have my guests insulted. I'll thank you to beg her pardon and leave my house!" George, did not expect the girl to smack him, he expected she'd be like a fishwife. Isn't it how those sort of people are? He assumed she'd be effing and blinding, make a spectacle of her anger and embarrass herself. He expected she might cry and he could point to the instability of a silly, low class, girl as cause. He did not expect to be slapped in front of ALL the monied, aristocratic, old money barons of the area and turned out of the party with these kids looking at him with contempt. The Count spoke again. "Apologize to the lady!" George turned to the count. "I beg your pardon for bringing inelegance to your affair." He turned to Dem. Ross insulted him, said he wasn't worth beating up on his 'wife's' behalf. "I apologize... miss." With that George left. A crowd of the women in the room, Caroline included, rushed to Dem like a rush of water leaving a sluice gate. 'How dare he!', 'You were self controlled, I would have...', 'What a horror'... Ross stood with Dem, holding her hand and being her friend, her husband, of course, but also her friend. He stood by her and she felt his support as she received praise and compliment for showing a cad she'd not be insulted. Dwight, Hugh, his uncle and the count watched with interest. Ross did not jump in like a shinning knight or barrel in like an angry husband insulted on his wife behalf and looking for revenge. Ross stood by his wife as a supportive friend. The Poldarks were young but they had wise ways. Dem thanked the women around her and began shaking hands, taking leave. They said their good byes and then looked to their friends. The look in their eye, 'we want to go home...' The count apologized again and asked that they all have a private dinner later in the month as a way of restoring their acquaintance to good terms. Ross shook his hand and agreed. Count Schön took Dem's hand in both of his. "Mrs. Poldark, you graced my party from start to finish! You danced divinely and gave the villain his just desserts. Honor that might grace a throne, madam!" Dem smiled, warmly. "Thank you." she smiled. They left the castle. They were meant to stay with Lord Falmouth but they brought them home instead. Ross went up first, using the flashlight the Enyses kept in the car, and then came back down with two hurricane lamps so he and Dem had light in the darkness. "I am sorry the night went pear shaped..." said Hugh. "May we visit you tomorrow?" Ross smiled a tired smile. "We would like that!" Dem looked ethereal in her light blue dress in the light of the lantern. "Thank you, we did have fun, didn't we? Mostly?" They agreed. They had a great deal of fun for most of the night. "Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Poldark." said Lord Falmouth. Ross and Dem smiles widened. "Good night, Lord Falmouth." they said.

George, since it was front of mind, called his assistant, Tankard, the moment he got home. "Tomorrow I need you to give some information to some men doing me a favor. I need you to tell them about those two kids up in the folly. Yes, where they keep things, their habits that sort of thing. Yes. Thank you. Good night."

The Poldarks checked on Seamus and Desdemona. Garrick and Tabitha Bethia were asleep. They readied for bed. Ross spooned around Dem in their bed. "You made him see stars!" chuckled Ross. "Are you alright, Sweetness?" Dem nodded. "Yes, it is a pity that happened, it was a lovely party! What must it be like to live in a real castle?!" Ross snuggled closer.

"Not as nice as this." said Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones 1965
> 
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> 'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try  
> I can't get no, I can't get no
> 
> When I'm drivin' in my car  
> And a man comes on the radio  
> He's tellin' me more and more  
> About some useless information  
> Supposed to fire my imagination
> 
> I can't get no  
> Oh no no no  
> Hey hey hey  
> That's what I say
> 
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> 'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try  
> I can't get no, I can't get no
> 
> When I'm watchin' my TV  
> And a man comes on and tells me  
> How white my shirts can be  
> But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke  
> The same cigarettes as me
> 
> I can't get no  
> Oh no no no  
> Hey hey hey  
> That's what I say
> 
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> I can't get no girl reaction  
> 'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try  
> I can't get no, I can't get no
> 
> When I'm ridin' round the world  
> And I'm doin' this and I'm signin' that  
> And I'm tryin' to make some girl  
> Who tells me baby better come back maybe next week  
> 'Cause you see I'm on a losing streak  
> I can't get no  
> Oh no no no  
> Hey hey hey  
> That's what I say
> 
> I can't get no, I can't get no  
> I can't get no satisfaction  
> No satisfaction, no satisfaction  
> No satisfaction, I can't get no


	10. All Along The Watchtower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped

Dem worked in the garden. Ross tended the animals and worked at chores. They finished their work and decided to bathe. They stripped themselves nude and walked, hand in hand to the river, carrying their clothes and stealing kisses along the way. Ross dived in first and Dem followed, reaching into a crevice in the cliff for the yellow plastic box that held their soap. Ross came up behind her, intending to embrace her. She opened the box and Dem screamed. Ross' eyes widened as they both recoiled, from surprise, from the smell. Dem dropped it and started to cry. It floated like a boat. Someone had taken away their soap and left a dead rat in its place. Left it closed, back in its usual place, already seething with maggots. Ross and Dem watched it float away and stared at each other. Ross' mouth fell open and Dem started crying harder, her mouth trembling in her terror. Someone had been here. Someone might be here. Someone knew where they kept their soap... They scrambled back to the bank and dressed quickly, frightened by the fear that scared them the most. Someone evil was watching them. Watching them bathe, watching their love, wanting to hurt them... Ross held Dem's hand as they ran back home, terrified. They ran back home and shut the door. Panting, frightened. Dem flew about their little house, shutting the wooden shutters at the windows, frightened that someone was looking at them. Ross ran a distracted hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle, trying to think. They still needed water... "Dem! I'm going to get the water now, not wait!" He usually hauled up water as they got ready for the evening. "When that's done we will stay inside!" She nodded in agreement. "Yes! I'll pick the vegetables now and we'll not go out!" Ross hurried to get the pail. Dem hurried to get her knife and basket. It was only afternoon but they were afraid. They would do their evening chores early then shelter indoors, stay safe.  
Ross hurried to get the water but he could only go so fast once he filled the pail or it would slosh over the sides of the bucket. Ross intended to go back, to bring up a second bucket. He felt panic as he lugged the bucket back. Someone had been watching, watching them... As he got near home he heard someone whistling. Ross stood still, wondering if he was imagining it. Birds sang, like always. He was feeling jumpy. He started walking again and could hear, quite near, singing.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water..."

Ross dropped the bucket. The water poured out, sloshed over his feet, the clatter of its handle hitting the metal bucket as it fell. He nearly tripped over the bucket, running to the house. Men were nearby, Warleggan's men, laughing. "Dem! Get inside, Dem!" Screamed Ross.

"Jack fell down and broke his crown..."

It was a different voice, singing the next part. They took it in turns and snickered, watching the frightners they put on that hippie scum working... 'Jesus?' thought Ross, 'Jesus! I don't care about me! Spare Dem! God, please spare Dem....' "Dem! Get in the house!" yelled Ross. She looked up from her vegetables, dropping the basket as Ross came around the side of the house. At least three men sang,

"And Jill came tumbling after!"

They ran inside. Garrick stood at attention, barking, growling. "Garrick! Come to! Garrick!" shrieked Dem. He ran through the door as they just heard movement coming near. Ross slammed the door. Bolted the door, both of them gulping for air and shaking from fright. They stared at the door as Garrick growled and Tabitha Bethia arched her back and hissed at the door's direction. A loud slamming noise. Ross jumped back further from the door as Dem screamed. They stood by the windows, beating them with the flat of their hand, laughing and threatening to teach them a lesson. Ross and Dem could hear them through the walls, through the shutters. Ross began to shake. He could not fight three men... He had to protect Dem... They wanted to hurt them both... "Ross!" Dem keened in distress, they had lived this once before and she was scared. The men outside promised to kill all the animals and teach them a lesson. They could kill them too, throw them over the cliffs and no one would find them, no one to give a damn about two dumb kids... "Leave us alone! Go away!" Ross yelled at the door, trying to sound strong, watching the door straining each time the men bashed against it. 

"You think we'll let you walk out?!" yelled Tom Harry.

Ross' lips curled in, eyes wide, watered at once with tears, horrified. Dem covered her mouth with her hands. It was not intentionally said but the man had managed to say the one phrase that could scare Ross and Demelza the most. Dem started sobbing and Ross hurried to open one of the wardrobes and pull down a brown paper bag. They bashed at the door again. Ross pulled Dem to their bed. She hid her face in his chest as they beat on the door, laughing. Ross held her close with his left arm and fumbled with the paper bag with his right hand.

Hugh slowed. There was already a car at the base of the cliff. "Who is that?!" said Dwight. Caroline put her hand on Hugh's shoulder. "Park somewhere else, away from them! Meet us at the folly!" Caroline and Dwight began the hike to reach the folly as Hugh parked his car out of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Along The Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix 1967
> 
> There must be some kind of way outta here  
> Said the joker to the thief  
> There's too much confusion  
> I can't get no relief
> 
> Business men, they drink my wine  
> Plowmen dig my earth  
> None will level on the line  
> Nobody offered his word  
> Hey, hey
> 
> No reason to get excited  
> The thief, he kindly spoke  
> There are many here among us  
> Who feel that life is but a joke  
> But, uh, but you and I, we've been through that  
> And this is not our fate  
> So let us stop talkin' falsely now  
> The hour's getting late, hey
> 
> Hey
> 
> All along the watchtower  
> Princes kept the view  
> While all the women came and went  
> Barefoot servants, too  
> Well, uh, outside in the cold distance  
> A wildcat did growl  
> Two riders were approaching  
> And the wind began to howl, hey
> 
> All along the watchtower
> 
> All along the watchtower


	11. When The Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbowed

Ross and Dem pressed themselves against the wall, at the far corner of their bed, the blue velvet curtain pushed aside. She covered her eyes with her hands and curled into Ross' chest. He kept her close, kept his left arm tight around her. He rested his lips on her hair, staring at the door as Warleggan's men tried to beat it down. A sudden burst of splinters as one of them found the axe they used for firewood. Dem shrieked at the noise. Ross held Dem tighter. She was crying and he was frightened but he was her husband and strove to protect his wife. Ross' eyes remained trained on the door, but he whispered to Dem as she cried, whispered against her hair, "I'm here, Dem! I'm here, baby. I'm here, Sweetness. I will not leave you!" The door broke open and Tom Harry, brandishing the Poldarks' axe took a breath intending to taunt them once more but raised his hands at once, held the axe in one hand and raised the other, empty one. The other two henchmen cut short their laughter. 

"Get out of our house or I'll shoot!"

There, facing the door from a bed in the corner, the boy held his girl in his arm and stared them down, angrily, with a pistol aimed at them. His hand was as steady and firm as a marksman. He demanded they leave, a glint of malice in his eye as he defended his wife and their home. Their dog was growling, barking at them. The dog seemed to wait to be deployed by his master, staring them down. Tom Harry backed up, as did his fellows. They laughed at this boy, enjoyed scaring these two kids, convinced the boy was weak and easy to push around. Ross looked as if he would enjoy firing the gun. He trained it on Tom Harry and Tom and his accomplices realised they were on the back foot now. Ross changed in their eyes at that moment. Gun beats axe. Gun trumps laughing scorn and threats. Gun can take out all of them, especially when the silly long haired hippie, soft, prancing about with his bird in the altogether like a lazy layabout, turns, before one's eyes, into an angry, long haired vagrant with a prison tattoo on the hand he had around his bird... They put the frighteners on them. They broke up their garden and killed a couple of chickens. That would do. None of this was worth getting shot. The kids were as thin as stick insects but they could certainly shove a body, or three, over these stark cliffs if the need arose. They didn't even bother with more threats. They left. Ross and Dem were wary, did not want to let their guard down. Dem whimpered. Garrick walked to the bed and snuffled at her foot as if to say, 'They've gone, Sweetness, you are safe..." Ross' hand, shakily, lowered.

Dwight and Caroline saw three men coming down the trail. Dwight pulled Caroline into a clump of stunted trees and they watched them go further away. She grasped his arm in sudden concern. "Oh no! Oh God! Have they hurt them?!" she whispered. Dwight watched them get further away and felt they could continue unseen, unheard. "Come on! We must make sure Ross and Dem are safe!" The Enyses rushed up the trail and came upon a distressing scene. The soft summer light fell on the bashed in door of the Poldark's folly home. Their upturned, ruined garden. Two dead chickens, bleeding their last on the fountain bed floor. An axe lying on the ground. "Oh!" Caroline ran forward in a panic and ran into the folly. Dwight ran too hearing Ross yell,

"GET OUT!"

and Caroline scream. She pointed to herself, animatedly. "It's me! It's me, Ross! They've gone!" Dwight came to his wife's side in time to see Ross, hand shakily holding a pistol at her and burst into tears as he lowered it. "Caroline! I'm... I'm so sorry! They said... They said they would kill us Dwight!" Ross let the pistol lay on the mattress and buried his face in Dem's hair, both of them sobbing.

"A pistol! A gun, you say?!" Tom Harry and his companions were not sure how George Warleggan would react to their tale of intimidation and the hippie boy turning the tables on them. They had not expected laughter. Warleggan laughed until he had to sit at his desk to recover himself. "They have a gun up there?!" Tom was offended. All well and good to laugh, you wouldn't laugh if an angry kid with nothing to lose aimed a pistol at you. "See here! Ain't no hippies worth getting my arse shot off!" George grinned. "I am not laughing at you, I'm laughing because my problems with those two are solved! They can't possibly have a proper licence! That gun is illegal! They won't just get arrested! They'll get deported!" Tom Harry looked at his fellows and laughed with their boss. George smiled triumphantly as he reached for the phone. "The authorities shall be told of these street whore vagrants and their illegal gun!" And George continued to chuckle as he phoned the police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When The Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin 1971
> 
> If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break  
> If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break  
> When the levee breaks I'll have no place to stay  
> Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan  
> Lord mean old levee taught me to weep and moan  
> It's got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home  
> Oh well, oh well, oh well
> 
> Don't it make you feel bad  
> When you're tryin' to find your way home  
> You don't know which way to go?  
> If you're goin' down South  
> They got no work to do  
> If you don't know about Chicago
> 
> Cryin' won't help you prayin' won't do you no good  
> Now cryin' won't help you prayin' won't do you no good  
> When the levee breaks mama you got to move  
> All last night sat on the levee and moaned  
> All last night sat on the levee and moaned  
> Thinkin' 'bout me baby and my happy home  
> Going to Chicago  
> Going to Chicago
> 
> Sorry but I can't take you  
> Going down, going down now, going down  
> Going down now, going down  
> Going down, going down, going down
> 
> Going down now, going down  
> Going down now, going down  
> Going down now, going down  
> Going d-d-d-d-down  
> Woo, woo


	12. Had To Cry Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unburdened

Dwight and Hugh sat on the edge of the fountain bed as Hugh turned the pistol in his hands. He handed it, handle outward, to Dwight who turned it about in his own hands and sighed. "They need looking after..." said Dwight, sadly. This old Beretta was so rusty firing it was impossible. The Poldarks had bluffed their way out of an ugly situation. They had their sense of safety yanked out from beneath them. Frightened, still clinging to Caroline in their bed, crying like children half their age. Refusing to tell the authorities, scared and crying. Not wanting to leave their animals, frightened to stay. The rustle of tree leaves and sounds of nature were ever present. All around them. The rupture of the Poldark's life at the folly had no hold on this wild canyon. Nature continued its own world, untouched. Hugh looked up at the sky. Searched it for some kind of answer. The answer he'd known from the first. The Poldarks must have a home, a settled life. Even setting aside the problem of winter, their Eden, here, was tarnished now. Hugh said, distractedly, "They should go home..." Dwight frowned. "Isn't that the trouble? They haven't got one!" Hugh looked at the gun in Dwight's hands. "I mean they should go back to England, stop running around the continent!" Dwight sighed. Two homeless kids, fending for themselves, alongside a tribe of homeless children, all over Europe... Dwight frowned. "They do crave stability, they want a home," He turned to look at the door of the folly, still open and bashed apart near its facing side were the latch had been. Their violated dreamworld. "The folly was a dream but not a home in the long run... We lived the dream with them and I treasure it..." Hugh nodded. They, all five of them, loved their summer's paradise in Ross and Dem's sanctuary. "They _needed_ that dream... But it was a dream..." said Dwight, wistfully. He rubbed his thumb over the gun in his hands. How much fear? How much pain touched Ross and Dem in their vagabond life? This shelter had made them so happy... Who crushes a butterfly on a wheel? Warleggan stole their dream. But it was a dream that could not have been maintained, even if this vile attack had never happened. The folly, an abandoned hunting lodge with no electricity or running water, could not have been their permanent home. They could not have stayed there in the cold weather for all they wanted to... Dwight said, to the air around him more than to Hugh, "They both have a lot of pain in their backgrounds or they wouldn't have runaway in the first place..." Dwight thought the Poldarks were sweet and honest. He also felt they were tiptoeing around some sort of lie of omission in their life on the streets. There were aspects of it left unspoken -that they specifically _wanted_ unspoken- and there were subtle mysteries that remained unanswered. "Caroline mentioned that their rings and the chains they wear them on are high quality, expensive. Far more than a handful of spare change got by busking could pay for." Dwight said in an undertone. Hugh nodded. Though he did not mention it, he did notice their rings were very fine jewelry for all they were plain. Dwight continued. "They talk around it but it doesn't take a genius to guess... Two young kids, trying to survive on the streets... If they became desperate enough they might have stolen money..." Hugh grimaced, "I don't think they did that..." Dwight, not wanting to seem hard, not wanting to suggest he blamed the Poldarks or thought them immoral or devious, spoke sympathetically. "They are lovely kids, Hugh," said Dwight. "They came by boat to Italy, they have wedding jewelry that costs a pretty penny. How did they get enough for travel, let alone their rings? I don't seek to blame them! Any situation they found themselves in..." "No." Hugh scowled, shook his head in sullen determination. "I just don't believe it... they are too good hearted..." Dwight nodded. In his profession as a doctor, Dwight often had to confront the darker sides of social ills. Dwight mentioned theft as a possible explanation but he felt much as Hugh did. The Poldarks' gentle positivity, the sweetness in their personalities, Ross even called Dem 'Sweetness' as a pet name, seemed to make thieving unlikely. Life on the street was not easy. Life on the run... They had a rusted out gun in their possession... Were they running? They were quiet for a time. Caroline's voice could be heard, sympathetic murmuring. Hugh turned to Dwight. "Ross and Dem may find the transition difficult, but we shall help them. We shall help them to make it work..." Dwight nodded. They shook on it. They would work together to help their young friends. 

  
A single bed is small for two, but not if it is shared with the person you love. It is quite a stretch for three, but not if Caroline kicked off her shoes and sat up at the head of Ross and Dem's bed, an arm around each, at either side, as they clung to her and each other, lay their heads in her lap, near each other. Heads bent towards each other crying, quietly. "Why won't you tell the police!" asked Caroline. "Those men shouldn't be allowed to get away with this..." Ross said, sadly. "Because they won't believe us! They won't believe a couple of s-street rats..." Caroline looked down at Ross, sharply. "Don't call yourselves that!" She stroked their hair, a gentle hand for each of them. "They'll put us in jail!" wept Dem. She sniffed, wetly. "You can never trust the flic! Whatever country you're in!" Caroline stilled, stilled her hands over their heads. It was a danger, to press them for details. They might turn away from her friendship, asking for answers. But the story was better told if only to let them unburden themselves. "Ross? Dem? What happened? What happened to you?" They looked to each other, stricken. Trying to decide if they should speak about what shouldn't be spoken. Caroline tried again. "How did you buy your wedding rings? You've said, more than once, that you were busking and slept rough on the streets. How did you get to Italy?" Ross closed his eyes. He held Dem's hand and Caroline rested her hand on his head like a mother would. Stroked his hair and held him because he had been so afraid. Caroline wanted them to feel better. Would talking make it better? Dem opened her eyes looked at Ross' face. Caroline's hand, laying on her head, was warm and tender Dem wondered if this moment was safe. They had been terrified and now Caroline was near, holding them, wanting them to feel safe. Having been so scared, perhaps speaking of older fears was possible, curled next to her husband in the lap of a friend they had come to trust. Ross opened his eyes and looked at Dem. They did not speak but they understood each other. They had come to trust Caroline and Dwight and Hugh. They could trust Caroline. They could speak of the dark situation that had scared them, to her, and she would not think badly of them. Dem nodded 'yes'. Caroline listened to them and dried their tears. Caroline felt anger on their behalf. She could see that being able to speak had helped them and that Ross and Dem needed each other's arms now. The Poldarks needed to rest. They let Caroline stand and she left the bed. Ross and Dem curled up together in their single bed. "I'll take first watch." said Dem. Caroline turned back, knelt by them in their bed. "Both of you. Go to sleep. Dwight, Hugh and I will not leave you. We will keep watch all night." She kissed their foreheads as they tried to shake out of their 'fight or flight' response. Caroline promised that they would not leave them tonight. She, Dwight and Hugh would guard them and the animals. Ross and Dem could sleep without fear. They were grateful. They both slept.

Garrick slept curled on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Tabitha Bethia wedged herself under the daybed. Caroline could see the cat's eyes, blinking in the ambient lamp light that backlit the cat in a dim halo. Caroline sat back up and turned to look at the Poldarks, Ross' back towards her. She stood and walked to see them in their bed, Dem clutching at Ross' shoulder in their sleep. Heads close together, a star on her finger. They looked young and vulnerable. They _were_ young and vulnerable. Eighteen and seventeen, just kids... How many nights in their young life did they 'keep watch'? Why couldn't they been tucked in safe and sound? Why was there no one to kiss their brows? She walked out to Dwight and Hugh, sullen looking, seated at the edge of the fountain bed, Dwight turing the gun in his hands. They had removed the dead chickens but the blood remained. "They are sleeping." sighed Caroline. "I suppose we should sleep in shifts?" Hugh nodded. "They might come back, the horse and the cow are still a temptation... That they should carry this much grievance over two kids in a folly is beyond belief!" Dwight looked up from where he was seated at Caroline with a doleful look. "Do you know this thing can't even fire...?" Caroline brought her hands to cover her mouth. If the men had called their bluff they would not have been able to protect themselves. He reached to squeeze her hand as she brought her arms back down. Squeezed it gently. Dwight knit his brow. She looked tired. "You sleep, Caroline. Lay down on their daybed. You sat up with them a long while. Caroline looked forlorn. "There was a lot to talk about. They will not go to the police. They will not be talked round. They have little cause to trust the authorities..." Dwight could see that whatever Caroline knew from her time with them was better spoken of when they were on their own.

"Rest, my dear." said Dwight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had To Cry Today, Blind Faith 1969
> 
> It's already written that today will be one to remember  
> The feeling's the same as being outside of the law  
> Had to cry today  
> Well, I saw your sign and I missed you there
> 
> I'm taking the chance to see the wind in your eyes while I listen  
> You say you can't reach me but you want every word to be free  
> Had to cry today  
> Well, I saw your sign and I missed you there  
> And I missed you there
> 
> Had to cry today
> 
> flic: French slang for police


	13. Ave Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonna's advice

Hugh took the second watch, Dwight lay next to Caroline on the daybed. Hugh and Dwight agreed she should not be wakened. Ross and Dem were still asleep and Hugh sat out by the fountain bed to keep an eye on the animals and have a think. It was not enough to try and work with George Warleggan, try to negotiate with him. Hugh was now determined to keep this valley out of George Warleggan's hands. To deny it to him entirely. This persecution, the hatred in it! It was appalling. Hugh walked around the folly, holding a hurricane lamp, and looked in on Seamus and Desdemona. Both animals were safe in their sheds. Hugh thought of them by name. He had been given such a beautiful summer here, he felt honor bound to help the Poldarks. Seeing them traumatized, on purpose, threats that might have happened, the men might have been bold enough to hurt or kill them, was an unforgivable crime.

Dwight woke suddenly, turned his head to see Hugh's silhouette at the fountain bed. The barest morning light shone beyond the trees. He got up slowly, but not carefully enough for Caroline woke. "What time is it?" She whispered. Dwight moved his watch closer to the lantern. "5:10, Hugh should sleep now and then we have to persuade them to come with us..." Caroline sighed. "I can't see them wanting to leave the animals, for all they are afraid." She stood. "We'll sit up together now, I am rested..."  
Hugh lay on the daybed. The sun rose. Dwight and Caroline realized that they, and Hugh, had no idea how to milk a cow. Hugh woke, rubbed his eyes. He briefly forgot where he was in his groggy awakening, then turned his head to see the Poldarks in their bed, motionless save the rise and fall of Ross' breathing. Hugh stood up from the daybed and came back outside. Caroline and Dwight stood up. They stood close together, whispering at the edge of the fountain bed. "Dwight and I will go down to the car, make sure nobody has tampered with it and then we shall have to wake them. I think cows have to be milked at proper times." Hugh made a 'tsk' sound as he ran his hand through his hair and glowered over the attack they suffered. "That they aren't up with the lark of their own accord proves how much trauma they're in!"

Dwight took a stout tree branch as a cudgel, just in case, and they made their way down. The quietness, the prettiness of the valley calmed them a bit but they both were on guard. Hugh looked further ahead. There was movement, dark figures visible through tree branches below, people? Hugh stood still and held Dwight's arm, squinting. Dwight looked in the same direction. Men in uniform. Police. Readying to mount the climb up to the folly. Dwight gasped. Hugh stamped his foot, hissing angrily. "That evil motherfucker!" He turned to Dwight quickly, whispering. "Go back! Go now. Wake them up! I'll try to stall them!" He shook Dwight's upper arms, the look on Hugh's face was gravely serious. "They MUST hide the gun! Even though it doesn't fire, they can charge them with a crime! Ross is eighteen! If they arrest him, they'll not treat him as a minor! Go!" Dwight dropped the tree branch he was holding and ran back to the folly. Caroline saw something was wrong at once. Her heart sank, to see Dwight running back with determination writ on his face. She had hoped they would not have more problems. "George has sent the police!" Caroline gasped, put her hands to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. "Wake them up! They have to hide the gun! Hurry!" Dwight kept watch from the edge of the whitewashed wall, straining to hear the approach of Hugh and the police.

The sound of tromping boots coming up the valley. Hugh could be heard speaking, tersely, in Italian. Caroline stood with Ross and Dem at the doorway of the folly as they watched the police come towards Dwight at the edge of the whitewashed wall. Caroline had enough Italian to get by, to understand that Hugh was berating the police over the warrant and warning that he would watch them, closely, for 'dirty tricks'. Caroline hoped the police would not take offense and be more antagonistic towards the Poldarks. Hugh, for his part, thought that George might have waggled enough money at them that planting contraband might be possible then quailed, inwardly, to see that their warrant specifically mentioned firearms. George must have reported the gun the Poldarks used to scare his henchmen away. Warleggan was a heartless sociopath, thought Hugh. George hadn't even bought the land yet! That gun couldn't even fire but Ross could get jail time for an unlicensed firearm and the government might seek deport Dem with Ross still incarcerated in Italy. Praying that the gun was well hidden, Hugh pretended to still be focused on the police framing them. They had to look blameless.

Hugh walked to the folly determined to watch the interactions of the police officers. That they not plant anything, leave contraband they brought with them to frame Ross and Dem. Determined that nothing be removed and that the Poldarks not be harrassed. Certain that Ross and Dem not be strongarmed into signing ANYTHING. And translate between them, letting the Poldarks know what was being said. He looked at the two of them by Caroline in the doorway and stopped himself sighing in consternation. Ross and Dem had an ashen glaze of despair on both of their faces. 'They do not deserve any of this terrorism and harassment,' thought Hugh. "These men have a warrant to search the folly and the grounds," said Hugh in an even tempered voice. Having said his piece as they approached the folly, Hugh would not risk antagonizing the policemen now. The four policemen, Hugh, the Enyses and the Poldarks looked among each other in a tense volley of darting eyes. They stepped aside to let them in. Ross and Dem looked tired and resigned to some fate they'd all ready imagined for themselves. "We will be right here," Hugh put a reassuring hand on Ross' shoulder, the seriousness of Hugh's face showing his commitment to help them. Ross nodded. The police threw about the sheets on their bed, under the watchful eyes of Dwight stationed in that corner of the room. He stayed out of their way but watched carefully to make sure they were fair and honest. Dem went outside. Ross would have liked to go outside with her but felt he should remain. Caroline followed Dem and they sat with Garrick at the fountain bed. Garrick, who perhaps could not help himself (he was a dog, after all) walked forward and began to lap his tongue at the chicken blood drying on the fountain bed floor. Dem did not begrudge him this but she started to cry. Her garden was ruined, two of their chickens were dead, the police were touching their things, pawing through their bed... She buried her head at Caroline's neck, as if her neck could sop up her tears and cried. These men, and Warleggan's men (could one argue these police were also Warleggan's men?) had sullied her home with Ross. They could put things to rights, they could replant the garden and tidy up but the damage had seeped into them. Inside them. How would they ever feel safe having had such fear and violation visited upon them? Their lovely, little dream of a home. Caroline did not shush Dem or seek to quiet her. Caroline wrapped two firm arms around her and let Dem cry.

Ross could hear Dem cry. His eyes were bloodshot, though he did sleep. He felt as if he might crumple into a pile of dust. Ross felt so anxiety ridden he feared he might be sick, throw up. The police in Marseilles, when they were playing at cards, spoke loudly of the horrible things that happened in prison. Ross and Dem had not suffered any of the lurid nastiness, told in the stories the Marseilles flic enjoyed scaring them with, when they were in Paris. They were detained and released as vagrant minors, frequently, in Paris without such peril but those stories scared Ross. He was afraid to be in jail as a 'proper', adult offender. What would happen to Dem? Would they arrest her too? If she was not arrested would they let her stay with Hugh's uncle? The Enyses would not be here much longer... Dwight looked to Ross, briefly, before resuming his close witness of the police as they searched folly. The boy was scared stiff. Dwight hoped for the best and resolved to keep in touch with Hugh to make certain Ross and Dem were in a better, settled position. Should this search pass without incident they would, all three, make sure that these kids were safe. If they had the misfortune of being arrested, having a supporter in Lord Falmouth might help them to have the charges dropped. They would all help them. The police mussed the bed and daybed, lifting the mattresses, throwing the bedclothes around. They looked under things. Peered into the sound hole of Ross' guitar and made careful inspection of its case. Tabitha Bethia hissed at them when they sought to search under the daybed. She remained underneath, troubled by so much disruption. The police searched the wardrobes. Looked in the stove, scattered their firewood around. They looked in the animal sheds. Garrick sat by Desdemona's stall and eyed these strangers warrily. Seamus and Desdemona remained calm. The police did not seek to disturb the animals. The police were becoming frustrated. There was no gun to be found. They came back into the folly in consternation. One of them frisked Ross and demanded to frisk Dem. Wouldn't it be easy to hide a gun in her long skirts? Caroline watched the policeman like a hawk and her icy, regal demeanor did give the man nervousness. Dem stood still, loose limbed and quiet, eyes closed. He looked to the lead policeman and shook his head 'no'. The policeman in charge was annoyed. This was a wasted journey. He turned around in their little house, surprised that they should be living here. It was not a proper house. He stopped to look at their Madonna statue with a white votive candle burning in front of it. Set in the middle of the shelves as a figure of great importance. Ross stood next to Dem between Hugh and the policeman. The policeman looked at both of them, sternly. They looked at him not in insolence, anger or fear. These two had a worldly fatigue that seemed out of place. They looked so young. Too young to have such a look on their faces. The policeman spoke to Hugh and Hugh translated. "He's asking 'Why does a candle burn in front of your Madonna?'" said Hugh. Rather than shock or fear on their faces, the policeman watched their tired look blossom into shy smiles. In spite of themselves Ross and Dem suddenly looked shy over a secret. They looked to each other with an impish, conspiratorial happiness. Then Ross nodded his head that Dem should answer. Dem looked around the room, at the other police, at Dwight, and then walked forward to whisper into Hugh's ear. Hugh recoiled, blinked a double take. Dem returned to stand by Ross who put both arms around her and they both looked at the floor in a bashful manner. Hugh turned and spoke quietly to the policeman, quite close. The policeman widened his eyes. Wide enough to see that these youngsters in front of him were, most likely, not a menace to society. They resumed looking at the floor and the girl held the boy's arm around her. There was a little star on one of her fingers. They waited. Holding each other, waiting. Eyes closed now. Hair fallen forward. Waiting. The policeman realized that he was holding their life in his hands. He did not like that feeling. He looked at the statue. The votive candle flickered its light upwards, illuminating the carved, placid face of the Madonna statue in her velvet finery. Her quiet eyes beseeched him. Mercy. The policeman turned to Hugh and they resumed their close whispering. Hugh's eyes widened as he listened. He looked questioningly at the policeman who nodded, vigorously, and leaned forward again in more whispered explanation. Hugh stepped back and nodded. The policeman spoke rapidly to his men and they left the folly.

Caroline saw the police tromp out of the folly and out, disappearing around the whitewashed wall. She went inside. Dwight, Hugh, Ross, Dem and Caroline all breathed a sigh of relief. Hugh rushed out down the hill to make sure they really left and the police heard his footsteps. Hugh jogged forward and raised his palm to the lead police officer as if to say 'wait'. He drew near and had the following, whispered, conversation in Italian:

Hugh: "Will you charge them?"

Policeman: "No, the tip we were given was false."

Hugh: "Why pink?"

Policeman: "They are gentle. They are like children. They would do well to raise a daughter. My grandmother was wise, all the women asked her advice. They should burn a pink candle and the Lady will intercede."

Hugh: "Thank you."

The policeman made a gruff noise.

Policeman: "You are their friend?"

Hugh: "Yes."

Policeman: "Get them into proper lodgings. The landlord wants them out and the next time they might not be lucky."

Hugh's eyes widened. The policeman looked at Hugh, straight. It was clear that the policeman decided, on the spot, to stop looking. 

Policeman: "They should have a proper home. You must look after your friends. They are too pure for this world. Good day."

Hugh returned. The folly was disheveled and Ross and Dem sagged into each other, sitting side by side on the daybed, among the mixed around pillows and tapestries like two rag dolls. He knelt down, looked up at their faces. They both fought with a sort of despair. Hugh turned to Dwight. "Dwight...", turned to Caroline. "Caroline... If you could step out for a moment, I must speak to Ross and Dem for a moment..." The Enyses nodded and left the folly. Hugh took their hands in his and looked up at them. Ross and Dem were so sick with worry they could barely breathe. Hugh gave their hands a squeeze and said, "There will be no charges," They looked at each other and burst into tears from the relief. Hugh let go of their hands. Ross placed his hands on either side of Dem's face and kissed her. They pressed their foreheads together and cried, embraced and cried. Dem held Ross protectively, in her arms, stroking his hair with her hand as they tried to calm down. Hugh waited. Ross blinked and sniffed as he said. "Thank you, Hugh. For helping us!" Hugh ducked his chin. Smiled. The Poldarks had become very dear to him. "The policeman asked me to give you advice from his grandmother. He said you should burn a pink wax candle, in front of your Madonna. He said 'the Lady will intercede' on your behalf for your wish." A warm look of collusion passed between the three of them. Hugh meant that for their ears alone, he would not discuss this with Dwight and Caroline. It was the Poldarks' secret wish and he as well as the policeman would guard it. They would burn a pink candle. The pink candle would do its own work, for the white candle had fulfilled its own purpose. It allowed the Lady to intercede behalf of the Poldarks and kept the policeman from retrieving the gun hidden under the statue's skirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ave Maria, trad, Franz Schubert 1825
> 
> Ave Maria  
> Gratia plena  
> Maria, gratia plena  
> Maria, gratia plena
> 
> Ave, ave dominus  
> Dominus tecum  
> Benedicta tu in mulieribus  
> Et benedictus  
> Benedictus fructus, fructus ventris  
> Ventris tui, Jesus
> 
> Ave Maria
> 
> Ave Maria  
> Mater Dei  
> Ora pro nobis peccatoribus  
> Ora, ora pro nobis  
> Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus
> 
> Nunc et in hora mortis  
> In hora mortis nostrae  
> In hora mortis, mortis nostrae  
> In hora mortis nostrae
> 
> Ave Maria
> 
> nonna: grandmother
> 
> flic: French slang for police
> 
> Well, the good news is we've had a good run of thirteen, rip roaring chapters!  
> The bad news is, now I have to write the rest of it!
> 
> We will resume here with chapter fourteen, and onward, telling the tale of our Hansel and Gretel in their adventures leading to the folly at Positano. Once it starts up again, the chapters will go up one after the other once more.
> 
> All the best, in the meantime, enjoy a pastry! <3 :)


	14. Song To The Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lament

There was argument, but Hugh and the Enyses gave way. Ross and Dem, having come the the realization that they must vacate the folly, unwilling to stay for they were so frightened by Warleggan's efforts to oust them, were insistent that they remain over night. One last night. The grown ups thought it unwise. After tharwting George Warleggan's attempt to get the Poldarks arrested over a gun that was so rusted out it couldn't be used, they worried he might be maniacal enough to be driven to greater extremes to hurt them once more. In the end, they agreed. Hugh would find some sort of animal trailer or truck to rent, to bring Seamus and Desdemona to his uncle's property. Lord Falmouth did not keep livestock but there were unused stables, original to the property, that could house the Poldarks' animals. Dwight and Caroline would help pack up their household effects in the morning. Hugh, Dwight and Caroline could see that Ross and Dem wanted to leave the folly on their own terms, not be chased away. To say goodbye to their little dream home in their own way. The Poldarks declined the Enyses' invitation to dinner, even with Dwight promising to bring them back the the folly afterwards. Ross and Dem would have their own meal in their folly home. To do anything other than this threatened to break their hearts. The grown ups gave way but insisted that Dwight and Hugh would guard the folly over night. The Poldarks agreed with deep gratitude. They could sleep, one more night, without having to keep watch themselves. It was a strangeness that George's pontificating at Lord Falmouth's dinner and a lark of an idea to find these "squatters" as a holiday adventure should be the catalyst for the five of them becoming loyal friends. They were brought into each other's worlds quite by chance. They, now, would have it no other way. The Poldarks had given Hugh, Dwight and Caroline entrance into an enchanted world and they became bound to each other, in friendship, in affection and now, a sense of devotion. Hugh and the Enyses were devoted to making certain that Ross and Dem were in a settled situation.

Ross and Dem brought up the last two buckets of water to the folly. Walking up the hill quite slowly. The water weighed one down but the knowledge that they were serving their household needs, one final time, made the Poldarks take care and walk slowly. They set the buckets down. They both looked over the slope of the hill, the meadow, the trees in the distance, the proud cliffs, the sun's soft light over all, the summer's bounty of raspberries they'd enjoyed tucked in the unseen distance. Dem sank into Ross, her arms around him as he put an arm around her and they both committed this beautiful place to memory. Caught in their mind's eye and wrapped in all the love and friendship they shared here. He held his wife. She held her husband. They loved this place. They both took a deep breath, to smell the fresh air. Hold that scent as a memory. There was birdsong and sunlight. There were butterflies fluttering from flower to flower in the grass. The rustle of small animals, their neighbors, all around them. Lived among the wildlife here. Became a form of wildlife themselves. The Poldarks... Standing in their meadow... Blessed to have known this Eden and for a short while, know it to be theirs... The water awaited... He kissed her forehead. They brought the water to the folly. Ross helped Dem tidy the garden. The plants and produce had been kicked apart and stomped upon by Warleggan's men. Dem set Ross to work, salvaging whatever could be eaten, stacking the vegetables into the crate they used as a stand when they played the gramophone outdoors. They would offer them and the surviving chicken to the Roma camp beyond the town. Whether sold or eaten, they would not go to waste in Romani hands. Dem raked her garden patch into an orderly rectangle once more. They lay the broken plants in a pile off to the side. Ross bore a bucket away of smashed produce and scattered it on the far side of the meadow. Birds, insects and other creatures would see it used up. What remained would become part of the soil before long. She put two tomato plants that might have enough life in them to take root and grow again back in the ground. The men had destroyed everything else. Ross poured a tin dipper's worth of water at the base of each tomato plant. He stood and gave Dem a firm hug. She had loved the garden. It had nourished them and their friends. Demelza sank into Ross' embrace. The tomato plants stood, green and bright, at the center. Elegant. Intentional. Someone had taken good care of this garden. Maybe birds would peck away at the tomatoes. Maybe someone would happen upon the folly and make a meal of them. Whatever their fate, Dem left her garden in good condition. Anyone who happened upon it would be able to see that someone with intention had looked after it well. Ross felt Dem's weight at his shoulder. Her grief as she clung to him. "You've made it very nice Dem!" he said cheerfully. Meant it cheerfully. Dem left her garden in dignity. She could feel Ross' smile, hear it in his voice. Ross was always so sweet. "Thank you..." said Dem, quietly.  
As they were washing their feet and hands, Dwight and Hugh returned. It was important to climb while there was still daylight. They were not as adept to the twists and turns of the valley at night as Ross and Dem. They would watch over the Poldarks overnight. Ross waved, splashing a bit of water as he did so. Dem waved as well, looking up from drying her feet. Hugh sighed. He had wanted the Poldarks to quit the folly for the winter, not give it up altogether. Now they were leaving for good and it was a sad situation. Dwight sighed. He and Caroline had spoken of renting the villa again and spending the summer suspended in the same lovely dreamworld they had enjoyed with Hugh in the Poldarks' folly. They would return to Italy but the dream, here, had ended. Warleggan's men had injured something very pure. They both looked at the garden plot and smiled. Dem was unbowed. She cleared away the broken plants, replanted two plants and raked the area back into a disciplined plot. All four of them grinned, the boys because they admired Demelza and Dem because she felt their admiration. Hugh produced two folding camp chairs and a chess board. Supplied with hurricane lamps and flashlights, they were prepared for their nightswatch. Discreet guardians who picnicked on sandwiches and fizzy lemonade and made themselves as unobtrusive as possible as the Poldarks spent their last night at the folly. Dwight and Hugh played chess. Ross and Dem sat nearby and drew careful, affectionate drawings of the folly in their sketchbooks. Dwight and Hugh took surreptitious peeks from time to time, impressed by the Poldarks' confident work. Ross' looked more realistic. Dem's had flights of fancy in hers. Giant flowers and birds, animals and leaves surrounded her drawing of their home. It could be argued that both drawings were accurate representations. They talked of this and that. They let Dwight and Hugh have a go. Let them sketch in the books too. They were primitive but earnestly done. Dwight disparaged his attempt and Dem gave him a gentle scold, "The drawing that left your hand is yours and nobody elses!" she smiled. "Stand by your work..." And she squeezed Dwight's shoulder for emphasis. They, all four, had a warm feeling of friendship. The Poldarks excused themselves, to start dinner. 

Ross set the table. Dem cooked three sausages that were a present from the Enyses. One for Ross. One for Dem. One for Garrick. The Enyses also gave Tabitha Bethia a small fish which victualed the folly household nicely. Dem cut up an aubergine and an onion then fried them in a pan with oil, sprinkled herbs over all and let them cook with two cut up tomatoes. It became a thick vegetable stew and they enjoyed it with the sausage very much. The candlelight flickered and glimmered throughout the folly. It made Dem's eyes sparkle and Ross' eyes gleam. They enjoyed their last supper at the folly and the subtle shine of each other's eyes as they sat close and the realization that the memory of this place was so filled with happiness that they would shed their sadness in time. The Poldarks were deeply sad over the end of their summer's dream but they could hold and share the memories of it between them and their friends.  
They tended the animals, washed the dishes and pans, washed up and brushed their teeth. They said goodnight to Dwight and Hugh. They raised their tin cups in salute, seated in the fountain bed in their chairs with a well matched chess game between them. Ross and Dem retired for the night.  
They undressed and lay down. The light from Dwight and Hugh walking the perimeter of the folly and the animal's sheds with hurricane lamps wavered at the windows from time to time. Dem lay her hand on Ross' chest, fingered his wedding ring on its chain. "We'll wear them, Sweetness. I promise..." whispered Ross. "I know..." Dem lifted her head to kiss Ross. He kissed back. Passion bound them. The kiss was strengthening their promise. They promised to wear their wedding rings on their fingers when they had a home. In truth, they were too eager. The five year lease had emboldened the Poldarks believe they would wear the rings when spring came. Earning the right to wear them by wintering and greeting spring. Proof that the next four years were theirs for good. Home. Warleggan had harassed them from this place, they no longer felt safe here. Ross and Dem had to move on. Ross stared at the ceiling, Dem lay her head by his neck. His voice seemed small, timid. "Do you think we'd have made it?" he asked. They knew Hugh and the Enyses were against the idea of the Poldarks remaining in the folly in the winter. They would have insisted but it was out of their hands now. They also each began to have doubts over how much it would take to be in the folly in winter successfully. They resisted talking about it to spare the other worry. But they had started to worry... "I wished it would be so," said Dem, wistfully. "I wanted it to be so but we won't know now..." Ross smiled, looked to his wife. She mirrored his smile. Their fingers played about each other, meshed together, lay smooth and gentle on her thigh, on his back. "I'd have kept you warm, Dem..." said Ross. He kissed her mouth, began to kiss her neck. "I'd wrap you in blankets and we'd stay in bed all day." Dem wound her leg around him. Dem's sigh might have been a lit match dropped in petrol. Their ardor quickened. He sought her mouth once more. "I wouldn't just warm you..." he whispered with an urgent catch of lust in his voice. They caressed and roiled about their little bed. "I'd make you hot..." sighed Ross.  
They lay quiet. Dem wrapped around Ross like a clinging vine. Drowsy and content from loving, pretending themselves invincible. They dreamt they could have conquered winter. It sweetened their rest, this final night in their dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song To The Siren, Tim Buckley 1970
> 
> Long afloat on shipless oceans  
> I did all my best to smile  
> 'Til your singing eyes and fingers  
> Drew me loving to your isle  
> And you sang  
> Sail to me  
> Sail to me  
> Let me enfold you  
> Here I am  
> Here I am  
> Waiting to hold you
> 
> Did I dream you dreamed about me?  
> Were you here when I was forced out  
> Now my foolish boat is leaning  
> Broken lovelorn on your rocks  
> For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow  
> Oh my heart, Oh my heart shies from the sorrow"
> 
> Well I'm as puzzled as the newborn child  
> I'm as riddled as the tide  
> Should I stand amid the breakers?  
> Or should I lie with death, my bride?  
> Hear me sing, "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you  
> Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you"
> 
> aubergine: eggplant
> 
> O.K., I lied, I'm still writing huge chunks of this thing and can't update in an unbroken string yet, but here's chapter 14 anyway... :)


	15. Dreamboat Annie(Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Et in Arcadia ego

The Enyses' car was packed. Seamus, Garrick, Tabitha Bethia and the mattress and frame of the bed were on their way to Lord Falmouth's villa with Hugh and Ross had gone with them. Dwight waited with Desdemona, at the side of the road, for her turn when the trailer was brought back. Dem stood, near Caroline, as they looked at the folly in its stripped, vacant emptiness. The blue velvet curtain removed. The little single bed dismantled and gone. The daybed denuded of its colorful pillows and sheets. The shelves bare. The breeze freshened the air without the scent and flickering light of the candles that were such a constant in their living here. For the final time, Dem closed the window shutters. The gramophone was placed in the top shelf of the wardrobe where they had found it. It had made them happy. Ross and Dem left it, the small collection of records and the tin of extra needles behind, hoping it might bring happiness to someone else who might happen upon it. She shut the wardrobe closed. There were no tears in Dem now. She had cried her tears. They had happy memories of this place. George Warleggan and his men could not take that from them. Dem removed the tin of pens and pencils from its shelf, tucked it in her arm and looked about the folly. Caroline watched Dem walk through, slowly lay her hand on the stove, the shelves, the walls, the battered door, whispering to each object, "Goodbye... Goodbye... Goodbye..." Heartfelt thanks could be heard in this leavetaking. Dem turned to face Caroline. She smiled. That Dem could still smile, when this day was so disappointing and heavy was a testament to her nature. Demelza held on to what was good, cherished what the folly had given them. "Shall we...?" asked Caroline. Dem nodded. They left the folly. The sky was blue, the world over, but the sky in the valley seemed brighter. The air, sweeter. The plants and trees and sheafs of cliff unfurled beside them as they made the hike down to the road. Caroline had seen many beautiful places. Many wonderful sights in her travels. She valued this valley above them all. Caroline, in her summer's acquaintance of Positano, had come to remember the shape of the cliffs, the smell of the air. The taste of vegetables, still warm from the sun and wild fruit, dipped in fresh cream. Knew happy days of swimming in a vine garlanded pool with laughter and love. They had their Eden, for that little while... Dem walked, clutching her tin of pens and pencils, leaving the valley as birds and bees and squirrels and foxes. Butterflies and ordinary flies. Rabbits and voles, the other hidden creatures in this place went about their day. They did not stop or stare, they accepted Dem as a part of this wilderness and let their friends pass through the valley as any other time, as if it might not be forever. Reared in wild fruit and honey in the imposing grandeur of the valley, the Poldarks had come to be part of this place and the animals paid little mind to their neighbor in her leavetaking. A clean, hard truth of the animal kingdom and nature too. This place shall go on without them... Dem and Caroline walked towards Dwight and Desdemona at the base of the cliff. Dem held an enameled tin that held pens and pencils in the crook of her arm the way a child would carry a much loved doll. Dwight smiled, encouragingly. The Poldarks were resilient. The disappointment could be seen on Dem's face. There was also the quiet dignity of bearing away their tin of drawing implements. Ross and Dem loved the folly. The memory of it would remain as they carried on, taking pleasure in simple possessions, loving each other and their animals. Dem looked at the Enyses' car, filled with their things -Ross' guitar, kitchenware, clothes, sheets and towels, pillows, gardening tools, buckets of metal and plastic stacked together, all the boxed up, household effects she and Ross owned. They owned these things and they filled a car! They had so many things! "Oh! Look at it all!" said Dem in awed happiness. "You don't think how much you have until you see it, all at once!" Caroline, ducked her head with a brief, bashful smile as Dwight chuckled. Caroline had mentioned, out of Ross and Dem's earshot, how few possessions the Poldarks owned _because_ it could all fit in their car. Trust Dem to see the other side of the equation. Caroline had to agree. The Poldarks had a bountiful life.

Hugh and Ross could be seen, down the road, getting nearer. The livestock trailer bobbing along behind the car. Ross' arm darted out of the window to wave at them and the Enyses were struck again by the Poldarks' determination to be positive as they waved back. It was impossible not to smile and it was instructive. The pain, within the day, this situation, was real and not ignored. The small happiness of greeting friends helped a great deal. Hugh parked alongside Desdemona who stared at the trailer, chewing her cud and looking as if the conveyance was a mirage that might disappear if one blinked enough. Ross had to cajole her up the ramp with a handful of buttercups. Ross insisted on standing in the trailer with her. He didn't want her to be afraid. Seamus was unfazed by the ride. Desdemona looked jittery over it and they hadn't moved yet. Dem rubbed her head and she and Ross whispered encouragement to the cow. Heads bent together murmuring lovingly to their cow. Desdemona munched her buttercups and Dem kissed her head before she skirted the side of the trailer and jumped down to the road with a charming bop of her curls at her shoulders, echoing the movement of her jump a beat behind. She retrieved the tin of drawing implements and went to sit in the passenger seat, next to Hugh. Dwight opened the door of their car for Caroline and then got behind the wheel himself. Hugh and Ross made last checks of the trailer door and Hugh shut Ross up in it with the cow. Certain the lock was secure, Hugh gave a jaunty salute and Ross returned it with a grin. Ross' grin through the slats, the light catching his crinkled eyes, as he smiled, as the slats shadowed his face, was amusing and a little troubling to see for Hugh. It reminded him of the Poldarks' stories of being in and out of jail, picked up in police sweeps for vagrancy. They put these harmless kids in jail... They drove to Lord Falmouth's villa. The disused stables were tidied up and replenished with fresh hay. Garrick ran around in what had been the paddock, becoming used to the new surroundings. Tabitha Bethia settled in the warmth of the very grand kitchen, making fast friends with the servants and the resident cats, a brindled female and an entirely black male. Between them, local mice had little chance to survive. Lord Falmouth greeted them at the elegant drive to the left of the property, nearest to the old stables. Desdemona, a nervous wreck from her rattling trip from the folly seemed grateful for terra firma and Ross' whispered compliments over how brave she was. One could believe the cow understood her friend, for she lowed a loud moo and pushed her head lower, as if demanding a kiss. Ross obliged and kissed her forehead, lay his cheek against her head with a happy smile. He stood and stroked the cow's back. Desdemona was content then and trotted forward to be petted by the others now that Ross had calmed her. "I see you've all made it here in one piece!" Lord Falmouth laughed, lightly. He liked the novelty of petting a cow. "Yes, thank you, sir." said Ross, earnestly. Clearly proud of Desdemona and enjoying seeing everyone giving her attention. Hugh and his uncle exchanged a brief look. Hugh might have said, 'I told you so...' aloud. Lord Falmouth was becoming as smitten with the Poldarks as he, Caroline and Dwight were. Installed in a bedroom that was, easily, twice the size of the entire folly, the Poldarks became honored guests of The Lord of the Fal. Charming the servants who became used to seeing the Poldarks scrubbing milk buckets clean, fetching and carrying milk to augment the kitchen and working at their stable chores, tending the cow and exercising the horse. The cook, nostalgic over having fresh cream at her disposal each day, made treats for the servants to be enjoyed with the Poldarks at lunch. Soft, sugary chunks of cream fudge, a milk pudding that her grandmother used to make with semolina with a rapturous crust of cinnamon sugar glazing the top, fritters of creamed rice that were soft and creamy inside, crispy on the outside and deliriously drowned in a thin caramel syrup, a dry biscuit, crumbly and rich with the taste of cream, rolled in icing sugar like tiny, snowed upon cigars were just a few of the delights the staff came to enjoy at luncheon from Desdemona's bounty. Ross and Dem learned to love the strong coffee the servants drank with their sweets at lunch. They learned a smattering of Italian for the staff enjoyed teaching them words as they enjoyed their meal. The kitchen became a place out of time. It was modern one minute -dancing to pop music on the radio, timeless the next -tucking into the cook's old fashioned desserts, round the table, with long haired Ross and Dem in clothes plain enough that it might have been the turn of the century. They might have been sharing their lunch with a farm boy and a milkmaid from some long ago past. The Poldarks had their lunch with the servants and their dinner with Lord Falmouth and their friends. Caroline and Dwight now had a standing invitation to dinner and a relaxed evening afterwards in the Falmouth library, talking and laughing, visiting and deepening a very consequential friendship. There were long, laughter filled chats. Drawing games, like Exquisite Corpse. Each person drawing a picture on paper folded in such a way that each drawing connected to the previous, unseen picture by someone else. Unfolded at the last moment to reveal all the drawings at once in a long, humorous chain. Nights of fun as the Poldarks learned to cope with the loss of the folly.

A week went by. Four more enjoyable days went by. The Enyses were coming to the end of their vacation. Caroline was in the privileged position of having been told, by the Poldarks themselves, what had been so secret and distressing in their past. She was given assurance that the Poldarks had not stolen their gold rings on their chains or their funds to get to Italy without further explanation. Caroline held their secret. The happy evenings of fun were stalling the inevitable. There must be time for a proper talk. Not just explanation of how they lived and came to Positano but a proper discussion of what was next. How the Poldarks would live. Lord Falmouth's surreptitious perusal of their identification, issued in France, soon after they arrived at his villa was somewhat helpful. They were basic identification, not passports. Ross and Dem looked confident and heartbreakingly young in black and white photos, little head shots, that still managed to show the glint of magic in their eyes, next to dry, typed in information. Dem was Demelza Poldark. Lord Falmouth had no information about her maiden name but her first name was unusual enough that it might help. Ross was Ross Vennor Poldark. An interesting, stubborn insistence on Ross using his entire name was a stroke of luck. Lord Falmouth was not above tapping his connections the the British Consulate to discreetly inquire over Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark, not in the least to make sure they were permitted to travel and not in some sort of "legal unpleasantness" as Hugh was wont to call it. How these identification cards gained them entrance to Italy was baffling. Unless they had passports elsewhere. The summer had waned and the Poldarks had regained their equilibrium after quitting the folly. Lord Falmouth made his enquiries. The grown ups were now approaching the delicate task that they had been impatient for. It was time to ask Ross and Dem for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreamboat Annie (Reprise), Heart 1976
> 
> Heading out this morning into the sun  
> Riding on the diamond waves, little darlin' one  
> Warm wind caress her  
> Her lover it seems  
> Oh, Annie  
> Dreamboat Annie my little ship of dreams  
> Going down the city sidewalk alone in the crowd  
> No one knows the lonely one whose head's in the clouds  
> Sad faces painted over with those magazine smiles  
> Heading out to somewhere won't be back for a while
> 
> Et in Arcadia ego: From a painting by Antonio Barbieri that shows two young shepherds staring at a skull, with a mouse and a blowfly, placed onto a pedestal inscribed with the words "Et in Arcadia ego" (Even in Arcadia, I am there). This phrase is meant as a warning, that even in Arcadia, death is always present. The idea that even in a prettiest, pastoral paradise death is present. In this case Ross and Dem had their paradise ruined by George Warleggan's greed
> 
> Still nailing the roof on this thing, back soon! :)


	16. Cat's In The Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regret

Summoned. That boded ill. Joshua's health had been poor but now it seemed it was failing. Charles Poldark drove to Nampara in a mixture of concern and irritation. Charles, the elder and more prosperous, who had come in for the family house and most of the mining interests, head of the family and a respected figure in the county, had never quite been able to get away from a suspicion that his younger brother despised him. Joshua had always been a thorn in his flesh. Joshua had never been content to do the things expected of him: enter the Church or the Army or marry properly and leave Charles to run the district himself. Not that Charles minded a few lapses, but there were limits and Joshua had overstepped them. Trenwith was prosperous and respectable. Nampara was modest. The property was kept in decent condition by Joshua's servants but the reputation of the place, in no small measure the fault of his brother, was poor. Charles, in his more self indulgent moods often wondered if ALL of Joshua's waywardness was meant as a poke in his eye. The reason that drove the ridiculous scandals and disruption of the family, sibling rivalry, weaponized. It was most likely not but Charles did feel hard done by it all. That Charles should be summoned to his brother's bedside was only right but it rankled. It would be Charles' responsibility to look after Joshua's interests for his nephew, Ross, was still gone. Too young anyway, seventeen... Two years gone with no word. When Joshua met his reward, Charles had no way of notifying Ross. Charles wondered if Ross was even alive but he never spoke that thought aloud.

Charles entered Nampara, let in by the housekeeper, and went straight to Joshua's room with no fanfare. It was empty. A voice called up the stairs. "Mr. Charles? Master Joshua be downstair. He be in the box bed, by the library..." Charles' heavy footfall tromped down the steps. The housekeeper had already disappeared to a different part of the house. The small room was tidy and clearly devised to save his younger brother from needing to go up and down stairs. Charles was perturbed. If Joshua could not deal with steps anymore he was badly off indeed. Shaking off this thought, Charles said,"Arf! You look like death warmed over! Ain't Choake been by?" Joshua still had his eyes. Sardonic eyes. He still had some semblance of his good looks, another annoyance to Charles. Joshua had always been good looking, young and older. The French blood was stronger in him. The d'Arqué look, that was diluted in Charles who had the Trenwith features more clearly stamped upon him. Joshua, the dark Poldark and Charles, the fair... Joshua grumbled, aware of Charles' misgivings and accepting them. Joshua lived at the edge of the pit but was no longer nimble. His ways had caught Joshua up at the last. Didn't he burn both ends of the candle to destruction? Wasn't he paying for all Charles looked askance at. The younger sibling at death's door with his only surviving son missing... Banished and missing these last two years. Didn't fate have the last laugh after all? "Choake only comes by to see how fast his pills are finishing me off!" groused Joshua. "He told me to go to hospital! I told him I'll die in my own damn house, thank you very much!" Charles' mouth fell open. "Do you hear yourself?! You sound like an old man! You ain't down yet!" In a better mood Joshua might have seen Charles' comment as affection but he didn't feel well, in himself. One could have hope if you felt under the weather but maintaining hope or a cheerful disposition when you _know_ something is wrong is difficult. Joshua flapped a hand at the painted statuette of the Virgin Mary on the fireplace mantle. "I know where I'm going, I won't quibble about it now..." Charles was left to wonder whether his brother meant the place above or the place below. Joshua sat up. Might as well get on with it... "I haven't a lot of time left. If Ross does return maybe I shall not be here to greet him. You're me brother, though we never hit it off so well. I want to tell you how things are and leave you to look after things till he gets back. Charles chafed at this. Two years? And no word for two years? The boy got mixed up in trouble, turned tail and ran away. Joshua just about demanded Ross go away until it died down. He vanished. For all they knew, Ross was dead in a ditch... "I've not much time, y'know..." said Charles. Joshua raised an eyebrow. Charles did not misunderstand his brother reminding him which one of them, at this moment, had the least time. "It won't take much of your time." continued Joshua, "I've little or nothing to leave. There's a copy of my will on the table beside you. Charles picked up the document. Why were they so different? Surely Joshua didn't have to be as stubborn and ill behaved as he was. Is it a mystery Ross went skulking about with the wrong crowd? Why hadn't his brother got to grips with life? Wasting time, making sport with half the women in the area. There were acquaintances who still looked askance at Charles over Joshua's scandals. That Ross took to the road instead of getting straightened out at home was Joshua's fault. "You're the one who let him run wild and then run off to God knows where! What if he doesn't come back?" asked Charles. Joshua sighed. Charles wasn't wrong. "The estate will go to Verity... He will come back though, he will... He might settle down, find a wife... That would steady him down..." Charles made a face. He had no high opinion of Ross' abilities. Ross would be all of seventeen, and an impractical sort, these long hairs with their guitars. However much Ross could mature in two years, Charles felt Joshua was seeing through rose colored glasses. Charles held his tongue. Joshua sensed it. "You can think what you like..." "I didn't say nothing!" said Charles. "You didn't have to!" grumbled Joshua. Charles sighed. "It's been two years. I hope Ross does come home." said Charles who could not remove the judgemental tone of his voice. Ross could have been as respectable as his own son, Francis, if Joshua had put the least bit of effort in controlling himself. "Running around, God knows where! I hope the boy will have settled down if he returns, whether he marries or no. He was keeping bad company that he should have never got into." Joshua nodded. "Just come out and say it!" Charles, for as much as the thought had been in him, was not going to declare his brother a rotten father on his deathbed. Blood counted for something... "You need to rest..." said Charles. Joshua gave a wry smile. They did not see eye to eye, and he had made endless mistakes with Ross, but Charles did not condemn him at the last. Blood counted for something... A knock at the door. "Yes?" said Joshua as Charles turned to look. The housekeeper entered. "Doctor Choake be 'ere to see ee, sir." Charles came closer to Joshua's bedside. "I'll keep this copy of the will, should Ross return." Prudie bowed her head. The Master not long for this world and young Ross out in the world somewhere... Not home, at Nampara, like he should be... Mistress Grace and young Claude already with the blest above... Sad days...

The doctor had gone and Joshua was alone once more -alone until morning. He might, by pulling the bell, call Jud or Prudie. He did not. Jud was continually keeping Nampara in a livable state and Prudie fretted so much over his illness and Ross' disappearance these last two years, he hadn't the heart to drag her in just to sit with him. It would be different if Ross had been here. Prudie would have had her nervous energy dispatched in mothering the lad. Joshua could have left this world with a better conscious had Ross returned. Charles was right but only partly right. It was he, Joshua, who had encouraged Ross to go away. Get space between him and the ne'er do wells he'd been running around with. The Vigus boys did get sent down to borstal. The Carter's boy got let off with a warning. Ross was let off too. Ross had been adrift. Looking for thrills in much the same way Joshua went off the rails, chasing tail.... Without Grace to ground them they both went feral... But there was knowledge to be gained, living on one's wits. If Ross was truly in trouble wouldn't he have come back? Ross would find himself. Let him find his own stirrups. Charles thought his brother thumbed his nose at respectability. But Joshua was not so cavalier. Being a Poldark did stir him to action. Even Joshua felt, of his own accord, it would have been undignified to have his son brought up in court for being a party to Nick Vigus' foolery, joy riding in stolen cars, getting mixed up in gambling and that business over some off license fiddle, daft brandy running between pubs and off licenses for a meager cut of the difference. Ross was losing his way. It was the cars that landed them in court. The gambling debts settled, with Joshua's money. It was the foolishness with the alcohol that made Joshua persuade Ross to 'get thee gone'. That would run them afoul of Proper Criminal Elements before long, either drawing them in as recruits or making them targets for retaliation, punished for stepping into 'territory' they had no business playing around in. That sort of trouble was dangerous. Ross was not hard, not a bad kid. He was lost. Grace would have known what to do... Well, now Joshua Poldark was alone and would soon join his wife, his younger son, Claude Anthony...Ross might return. Enough time had passed. Ross would be home, someday with no shadow over him. No disgraceful Papa to drag him down in the eyes of others. He'd be his own man. A man. 'If only I could see it...' thought Joshua. 'He's probably tall and got Grace's eyes on 'im...' Vennor eyes. Dark but colored with all the hues of the forest. Grace's eyes were flecked with green, and brown and hazel and Joshua never tired of looking in to them. He kept thinking of Grace, his long dead wife. She had been his mascot. While she lived all had gone well. With Grace had gone all his luck. He wallowed in his misfortune and let Ross down. He let Grace down. Let her son leave the fold... Joshua looked at the ceiling and the darkening room. He spoke to the ceiling, or beyond the ceiling. Spoke to a place beyond the room. "I let you down, darling. Let Ross down... I'm sorry..."

He felt he would like one more look at the sea, which even now was licking at the rocks behind the house. He had no sentimental notions about the sea; he had no regard for its dangers or its beauties; to him it was a close acquaintance whose every virtue and failing, every smile and tantrum he had come to understand. The thought of Ross' bitter frown. Ross stormed out of Nampara, understanding the wisdom of leaving but bitter. Joshua sat up a little more in the bed. The sea was no mystery. Ross was not either. Ross strove to earn back a place Joshua should not have pushed him from. What sort of life was it for Ross? He let the boy down. Maybe he should have been serious, looked for a second wife for the sake of giving Ross a mother. Joshua could not see that through even for the sake of his child. There could be no second wife, even as a makeshift. Grace had been all. That was a failing in himself. Joshua could see that the strain in the Poldarks that made them unreasonable in their likes and dislikes, quick to anger and unwilling to come to terms with disappointment had trapped himself and his son to a point that made parenting Ross a challenge. He had little authority to guide Ross when his own behaviour was so feckless. He drowned his sorrow in the thrill of the chase. Scandal for his own sake he did not care about. Shouldn't he have spared a thought for Ross' sake? Did Ross deserve to bear the brunt of Joshua's notoriety? Too late now... He'd not live to make amends. Not able to tell Ross he had regret. Regretted the way he conducted his fatherhood. Ross would make his own way. Joshua felt he would return. Whether Ross married or not there would be little enough to live on. The land counted for something. With a decent wife to manage things... If Ross found his luck in his woman, found someone like Joshua found in Grace, surely things could be put right... Surely Ross would find his way, be Master of Nampara in his own way. Ross had lost his way, and that could only be laid at Joshua's feet. His regret... Ross was clever, sensitive. A free spirit who lost his way. 'Let him find his way...' thought Joshua. 'Let Ross come home...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cat's In The Cradle, Harry Chapman 1974
> 
> My child arrived just the other day  
> He came to the world in the usual way  
> But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay  
> He learned to walk while I was away  
> And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew  
> He'd say "I'm gonna be like you, dad"  
> "You know I'm gonna be like you"  
> And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> "When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when"  
> But we'll get together then  
> You know we'll have a good time then  
> My son turned ten just the other day  
> He said, thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play  
> Can you teach me to throw, I said, not today  
> I got a lot to do, he said, that's okay  
> And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed  
> It said, I'm gonna be like him, yeah  
> You know I'm gonna be like him  
> And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> "When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when"  
> But we'll get together then  
> You know we'll have a good time then  
> Well, he came from college just the other day  
> So much like a man I just had to say  
> Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?  
> He shook his head, and he said with a smile  
> What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys  
> See you later, can I have them please?  
> And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> "When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when"  
> But we'll get together then, dad  
> You know we'll have a good time then  
> I've long since retired and my son's moved away  
> I called him up just the other day  
> I said, I'd like to see you if you don't mind  
> He said, I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time  
> You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kids have the flu  
> But it's sure nice talking to you, dad  
> It's been sure nice talking to you  
> And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me  
> He'd grown up just like me  
> My boy was just like me  
> And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> "When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when"  
> But we'll get together then, dad  
> We're gonna have a good time then
> 
> Borstal: juvenile detention
> 
> Chasing tail: womanizing
> 
> Fiddle: a racket, a con game


	17. As Tears Go By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief

"There was an old couple and they was poor, tweedle tweedle go twee..."

Hugh was already up, seated on the rail fence at the edge where the paddock and the open land met. Lord Falmouth came alongside, leaned his elbows on the rail and watched the Poldarks in the distance. Being a bachelor was how things turned out for Lord Falmouth. He had a happy situation in his strong and loving relationship with his sister in law's son. Hugh came to love Italy as much as he did. His sense of family, being family, contented Lord Falmouth. What must it be like to have a son, far afield, not know how he fares, never see him again? He couldn't imagine it. He knew what being a son was like... Hugh shared a tense smile with his uncle, then looked ahead at the Poldarks. Out in the stretch of grass beyond, trees in the distance framing them in the landscape, the pink blush of the early morning changing to daytime blue, Dem was skipping along, her singing just audible from a distance, a little louder each time she hopped. Garrick ran at her heels as she dodged and played with the dog. Ross cantered Seamus and galloped in a circle around his wife and their dog. Each of them having fun, apart and together. Encircling his wife, seemingly sealing her within their love. Ross' smile flashed as the horse turned. The sentimentality of the scene, knowing the information Hugh and his uncle now knew, was poignant. "It's unfortunate, but he must be told. Talking through the rest without him knowing is impossible..." sighed Lord Falmouth. Hugh nodded.  
The Poldarks spent the early morning exercising Seamus and letting Garrick run free as well. Ross and Dem walked Seamus back after a wonderful ride. They each took a turn riding Seamus. Took turns playing with Garrick. The freshness of the early morning air and morning light was glorious. Garrick running about between them, happy to play with his favorite humans. Lord Falmouth had been so kind. The staff of the villa welcomed them as friends, Dwight and Caroline came to dinner and visited every night. Hugh had been so helpful. The fright of George Warleggan's harassment and the disappointment over having to leave the folly had become dulled, a little. Did not sadden them as much now because their friends had rallied round, helped them. The days at the villa had been wonderful. They saw Hugh and his uncle at the fence and waved. They waved back. "Good morning!" said Dem from across the knoll. "Good morning!" said Lord Falmouth. As they grew nearer they could see a hint of discomfort in Hugh and his uncle. The Poldarks approached the fence. Hugh was tall enough, seated on the fence, that Seamus nuzzled Hugh's hair and he laughed, stroked his proud head. "Good morning to you too!" Hugh smiled at Seamus but looked to Ross and, again, Ross could see something playing on Hugh's mind, keeping him off balance. "I trust you slept well...?" asked Hugh. They nodded. Ross looked from one to the other. "Is something wrong?" Dem could see the answer was 'yes'. Hugh and Lord Falmouth exchanged a look. Lord Falmouth looked at Ross with sympathy. "I think it's better discussed indoors. Once Seamus is settled. We shall have breakfast..." he paused, uncertain. "Yes, we shall meet indoors and talk more..." Ross and Dem felt ill at ease. Caroline promised not to divulge their discussion in the folly, after Warleggan's men attacked them. Promised to let them tell their story themselves. Lord Falmouth and Hugh seemed disconcerted. They knew something... Something to do with them... They watched Hugh and his uncle return to the villa. "I don't know what it is," said Ross, absently, as he watched them go in the house. "But I suppose we'll find out..." Dem kneeled to scratch Garrick's neck and look him in the face. Fuss over him. She looked up at Ross. "Let's settle Seamus, it had to come out sometime..." said Dem. Ross frowned. "Caroline promised... Maybe it's something else..."

Ross and Dem rubbed their horse down, tended him, thanked the servant that brought Garrick food and, truly finished with no more reason to wait, went in to wash up and join Hugh and his uncle for breakfast. The sideboard was filled with scrambled eggs and small, plump, glossy sausages, kept hot in chafing dishes. Buttered toast sat upon a warmed platter in regimented rows next to a rainbow's worth of jam in little pots. Hot tea waited to be dispensed from a pretty urn and two servants stood at either side. Lord Falmouth dismissed them. The Poldarks, who knew people like Hugh and Lord Falmouth and Caroline thought nothing conducting of freewheeling talk in front of their servants saw this as a sign that what ever was being discussed was serious. Lord Falmouth was still in a quandry. Let him eat and prolong the wait or tell him and upset Ross to the point he would find it hard to eat...? Hugh looked at the Poldarks with sympathy. Looked at Ross with sympathy. Tall with sensitive, brown eyes, long dark hair, falling at his shoulders. Wearing his black tee shirt and blue jeans, no socks in plimsolls that had seen better days with a sort of dignity that belied the casualness of the clothes. Thin but muscular. Handsome. A good looking boy and well grown. The sort of young man a father could look to in pride... Lord Falmouth saw nothing for it. It must be now. He must be told. "I'm afraid I have sad news for you, Ross. Ross' eyebrows raised. "Sad?" Lord Falmouth nodded. "I took the liberty of inquiring at the Consulate..." Their mouths fell open. Hugh could see the Poldarks thought his uncle had been poking about for scandals. "You...?" Ross paused, scared. His brain became a frizzled scramble of possibilities, each more alarming than the next. Ross left home and never found out what happened in court. Was he a fugitive? Did they charge him with the others? Lord Falmouth sighed. He had been informed over Ross' previous situation, but that was not the issue now. "Ross, this is about your father. I'm very sorry to tell you he passed away last year." Ross went white as a sheet. He stood, eyes wide, trying to comprehend what had just been said. It sunk in. He put a hand to either cheek and stared around the room as if he had lost his way. Ross felt for the nearby chair to sit down. He didn't consider the idea that he would not see Papa again. Ross sat, mouth open in shock, staring ahead of him. Hugh, at a loss to just sit, poured tea and oversugared it on purpose. Sugar for the shock. Ross blinked himself into the present, hearing a teacup clink in its saucer in front of him. He could not have explained where he was, in his head...? In the past...? "Drink this, Ross..." said Hugh. Ross shook his head 'no', gently. "I should only sick it up..." said Ross glumly. "Ohhh!" He covered his face in his hands but crying eluded him. Ross was so surprised and sad he froze. Dem leaned forward and put her arms around him. He cried then. 'Papa never met Dem...' thought Ross. Lord Falmouth handed Ross a handkerchief. After a ragged gasp Ross said, "Th-thank you..." Falmouth put a hand on his shoulder, and Dem's as well. Steadied them both. "I shall not press food upon you, do you want to lie down? You may ring for a tray later, if you feel up to it...?" Ross nodded.

Dem walked Ross to their room. Ross was silent and forlorn. He did not undress, simply kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, pulled the covers over his head like a cloak. Muffled under sheets, Dem heard him say. "Oh Dem! I so wanted you to meet Papa!" She lay a hand on his back and his left hand snaked out of the sheets, blue star twinkling on his ring finger. She held it, kissed it. "You eat, Dem... sniff... Have your breakfast, I'll be... sniff... alright." Dem crawled onto the bed to hug the blanketed lump that was her husband. "I'll be back soon, I'm so sorry, sweetheart!" Ross' eyes were closed. He could feel Dem's arms around him in the warmth of the tented sheets and her face near his over the blankets. He couldn't speak to thank her. He nodded his head. Dem felt Ross nod 'yes' and gave him a protective squeeze. "Back soon..." she whispered. Ross felt the weight of her leave him and he lay curled on his side, still underneath all the blankets in a coupling of his own warmth and that of the bed. How easy it is in a bed to be warm. He and Dem were becoming 'soft' Ross supposed. They survived cold weather and rain in situations that shocked their grown up friends. He and Dem were strong kids, like the others on the street. Made their own warmth, bore cold and damp like the strong kids they were. Isn't it simple when you have a house, a bed... He thought of Mama, tucking him in bed, next to Claude. A cold winter's night next to his brother... Warm... Love on all sides, his brother near, all soft round cheeks, warm little hands like starfish and happy giggles that smelt of toothpaste; his mother's kiss, wishing them sweet dreams... The quiet hint of Papa playing guitar through the floorboards... Safe and warm and loved with his family... Why were they all gone? Ross wept for his family. At the point he lamented having no more family, he remembered he had Dem. He sniffled a bit of reprieve for himself. He meant to live with Dem in a home of their own. Earn the right to wear their rings and bring his wife back to Nampara. Not run back home. Return home, having looked after himself and given Dem a home of their own. They lost the folly. They might have faltered. Not made it through winter -The grown ups insisted wintering in the folly was impossible. Ross had wanted to prove them wrong. Live in the folly for five years and return to Papa triumphant. True to Dem, loyal, providing a home for her and looking Papa in the eye with no shame. Not a tearaway causing him headaches. Not the wastrel son of a notorious rogue, the "Dark Poldarks...", the disreputable ones... Ross would be respectable and not run home, tail between his legs. He'd return, having seen the world and found his fortune. Ross wanted to return home with a star on his finger, with a ring on his finger and his wife on his arm and Papa would meet Dem and be proud of him... No more... Ross fell asleep.

Dem walked through the halls of the villa, back to where breakfast was served. Servants smiled their hellos, not speaking, for she was the master's guest. Smiling for she was a friend. Dem had made many friends since coming to Positano. Italy had given Ross and her so much! She watched her own footsteps peeking under her skirt hem. Dainty blue shoes. She dressed in boys clothes, out on the street. She chose very feminine clothes once they came to Italy. Like a snake shedding a skin. They secured the folly and Dem let her womanhood blossom as strong as the plants in her garden. Their garden. Ross swore he would give her home of their own. Quit the street and tend their own place in this world. Ross kept his promise. Even as the money ran out. But there had been money enough. For household goods, for pencils. For three laying hens. For Seamus and Desdemona. For a pretty blue dress and pretty blue shoes... 'Poor Ross...' thought Dem, as she returned to the morning room. They were nearly broke, money nearly gone, the folly abandoned and his father was dead. They had not made their dream come true. They were still here. Surely other dreams could come true...? There were other kinds of treasure. There were other dreams to dream... Hugh and Lord Falmouth stood. Dem nodded, gracefully, earnestly. These men treated her like a grand lady. It made her feel she was a lady. Not a street rat putting on airs... "Thank you, I think Ross will sleep a while..." Hugh pulled out her chair. The servants attended them once more and Dem nodded her thanks as hot eggs and sausages and two toasts, one, glossly spread with rhubarb and one, with rose petal jam were placed in front of her. 'We'll get 'soft'...' smiled Dem, to herself. She barely recognized herself in the mirror these days. They ate so well this summer. Her face had filled out a bit, Ross' too... They each sipped tea, the men having finished with food and Dem not certain how to engage in conversation after such a sad shock. She swallowed down some tea. "Thank you, Sir. Ross surely needed to be told of his father's death. We'd have no way of knowing ourselves." Lord Falmouth looked at Dem. A plain, light pink tee shirt and a long denim skirt. Her unruly red curls, a regal crown. Sipping her tea like a duchess. A duchess who would soon excuse herself to milk a cow and give loving care to her bereaved husband. The Poldarks were like a kaleidoscope. Shifting within themselves. At a glance hippies, urchins. At a blink of an eye, grace itself. Wild and serene. A hint of danger, a shine of cultured elegance. These strange, wonderful people... "I only wish the news was less tragic." said Lord Falmouth, adding, "I do offer my sincere condolences, Ma'am." Dem looked up at him, eyes shiny with emotion and gratitude. Lord Falmouth, Hugh, Count Schön, they all treated her no less than an honored guest, a proper lady. " _Thank_ you." said Demelza. Hugh and Lord Falmouth were surprised by her tone of voice, but they did understand. So many people chose to see girls like Mrs. Poldark as lesser people. Would that more in this world could extend common courtesy to a lady. A lady of the first quality for all her wild ways...

"You're welcome, my dear." said Hugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Tears Go By, Marianne Faithfull 1965
> 
> It is the evening of the day  
> I sit and watch the children play  
> Smiling faces I can see  
> But not for me  
> I sit and watch  
> As tears go by  
> My riches can't buy everything  
> I want to hear the children sing  
> All I hear is the sound  
> Of rain falling on the ground  
> I sit and watch  
> As tears go by  
> It is the evening of the day  
> I sit and watch the children play  
> Doing things I used to do  
> They think are new  
> I sit and watch  
> As tears go by


	18. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time

A pall had fallen over the Falmouth villa. That Ross mourned the loss of his father pulled at the heartstrings of all. The cook sent up, not food, but a restoring mug of Desdemona's milk, kept hot with a little lid on a hinge. It was fragrant with orange flower water and nutmeg with tiny, butter yellow pools of cream fat floating at its surface and a few drops of Flower Essence added that the cook kept for emergencies. She swore by it for didn't the Queen of England herself trust it's powers to calm ones nerves? Dem had her lunch with the servants, accepting the condolences on Ross' behalf, and thanked the cook for the milk, taking it up to Ross who was curled up in bed and still sleeping. "Ross?" Ross looked up to see Dem, watching him with love and concern. Dem saw Ross look at her with quiet, despairing eyes. "There is milk for you. The cook and the other servants swore it would be good for you, but you must have it hot..." Ross sat up, in his tee shirt, in his jeans and took the covered cup from Dem's hands. He opened the lid and was reminded of eggnog by its scent. Little yellow globules of fat danced on the surface. He closed his eyes. He drank it slowly. It was hot enough to be hot but not so much that his tongue would be burnt. It was sweet and floral and had a hint of brandy in the taste. Dem watched him drink it and caught herself in the thought that she must have looked like one of the matrons in the ward, watching determined to see that he finish his medicine. She shook off the thought. She was not like those people. Not suspicious and grudging... She was Ross' wife, wanting him to have it hot as the cook insisted and hoping it would make him feel better. Ross drank it down and blinked a grateful smile. "That was good..." He looked down at the empty mug with a little smile. Dem sat next to him, put her arm around his shoulder and he lay his head at her shoulder, eyes closed, feeling loved.

Lord Falmouth had called the Enyses, to let them know of Ross' bereavement. They came to dinner, as any other time. Caroline hugged Ross firmly and Dwight lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. They had a pleasant meal for Ross had found some equilibrium since the morning's first shock. They all tread lightly but were able to talk about drawing and the perceived merits or limitations of one's talents. Dwight looked a bit shamefaced, saying he didn't have strong drawing skills. Dem argued once more that a person should stand by their work. "Your sketch was very nice, Dwight!" Caroline's eyebrows raised. "Did you do a drawing, Dwight?" They had all enjoyed drawing doodles, drawing Exquisite Corpses, drawings linked together that were informal fun. Caroline was surprised to hear Dwight had done a 'proper' drawing. He grinned. "Yes, I took a stab at the folly! Hugh did as well..." Lord Falmouth smiled. "Is that a fact?" Hugh chuckled into his wine glass, then looked around the table with mirth. "Yes, I shall not disavow my effort but I can admit that Ross and Dem have advantage! Their drawings were very good!" Ross smiled. He had enjoyed that afternoon, watching his friends draw the folly. "The sketchbooks are upstairs, I'll get them. We can see them after the meal." This was agreed to, not in the least because it seemed to please Ross. After dinner, Ross retrieved the sketchbooks. They sat in the library and Ross flipped back and forth to find Dwight's sketch. "Here we are!" He handed the book to Caroline. "Oh, Dwight! You're too modest!" Caroline looked up from the sketchbook with a broad smile. "This is lovely! It certainly looks like the folly!" Dwight smiled a bashful smile as it was passed around and admired. All agreed the folly was nicely rendered. Lord Falmouth chucked. "I say! That's very charming! Far more than I could manage!" Dem smiled a proud smile that made Dwight smile too. She was proud on his behalf. He nodded. "I will hold my head up high from now on!" said Dwight. They all laughed. Hugh had the book and began to flip the pages to find his sketch. He was jarred to come face to face with a picture of Ross lying in a twist on the day bed, entirely nude. "Oh!" Dwight looked over Hugh's shoulder and Caroline saw his eyebrows raise. She came over to look and laughed merrily. "Dem! You draw very well!" Ross chuckled. "We are our most utilized subject!" They continued to admire the Poldarks drawings.

Having shaken themselves from the initial surprise, Hugh and Dwight were able to view the work at its merits without embarrassment. Dem sat on the day bed, topless in her long skirt, her wedding ring and chain rendered with care. She held a piece of ribbon, to tease Tabitha Bethia. They looked as if they might begin to move. The shading and the features of both Dem and the cat wonderfully realized. Ross outside, clothed, nailing a board of wood to a wall. Dem at the stove, stirring a pot. You could imagine her singing. Her eyes were heavy lidded and she looked as if she was about to take a breath. Garrick. Seamus. Desdemona. A delightful cartoon drawing of Ross kissing the cow's forehead surrounded in tiny hearts. Flowers and birds, so florid and intricate that it became a puzzle to tell where feathers and leaves ended or began. Ross' very realistic drawing of the folly, of the swimming hole. Ill tempered raspberries that gnashed pointed teeth. Dem's fanciful drawing of the folly, nature all around it like a frame. Lord Falmouth as well as the others were very impressed. Their styles were very different. It was clear that Dem could draw with the same accuracy and realism as her husband but often chose not to, preferring flights of fancy to embellish her pictures. There was also delight to be had in the casualness of Ross and Dem sharing the sketchbooks. They both used what ever was near, what ever book they lay hand to. Their work was all mixed together, charming. "Marvelous, the both of you!" declared Lord Falmouth, still examining the book in his hands. "I don't know how you can do it! How do you draw so well?" In unison, the Poldarks said,

"The eye trains the hand, and vise versa!"

and they laughed to have both said it at the same time. They turned to each other, seated on a sofa, foreheads close, and laughed. Dem took his hand and squeezed it with affection and Ross kissed her cheek sweetly. They looked happy and conspiratorial. Caroline grinned. "You had instruction, surely? That was a teacher's adage!" Ross was still emotionally wrung out from the knowledge his father had died, it still showed in him. But he smiled. Memories that gave him happiness, memories that he and Dem shared (for they shared a crinkled eyed, warm smile of remembrance between them) relaxed his face and it was sweet to see. "Yes," said Ross. "We were taught well..." Hugh, never one to disregard a fancy, and glad to see Ross look less sad said. "I shall call for port! We must have a glass of port and a tale!" He looked to Ross and Dem. "You must tell us how you learned to draw!" It was meant kindly, for Hugh, his uncle and the Enyses were so taken by them reciting their teacher's remark. The Poldarks froze, then looked to Caroline with a deer in the headlights look of discomfort. She blinked. They had not thought talk of art was a tender subject. Caroline began to see the Poldarks' could not see it detached. All of their life together was bound to together. The smooth and the rough. Caroline began to suggest that it was not necessary to go into distressing memories. "Oh, my dears... We didn't mean to suggest..." Hugh also seeing the change in their demeanor said, "I had not..." But something about the heaviness of Ross' loss made explaining their life together seem necessary. Ross, dealing with the grief of never being in a position to tell his father what happened while he had been away from home suddenly made him want to tell it all, if only to hear it told himself. His story. Their story. The smooth and the rough. Ross looked at Dem as their friends scrambled to apologize for putting them on the spot. Dem looked into Ross' eyes. The tiredness was there, and the grief. The love was there, in their happy memories. The fear was there too. But Caroline knew. If they spoke once, they could speak again. They could speak it aloud and allow themselves the power of ownership. Own all that had happened, all they had done. They had come through these adventures, through to the other side. And Hugh, Lord Falmouth, Dwight and Caroline were good friends who cared for them and liked them and did their best to help them. They could explain everything. It was within their power. In the midst of Hugh and Caroline backpedaling, Ross said with a smile. "Call for port, Hugh! And nuts!" Hugh, mid apology, smiled, gave a bark of a laugh; happy to hear amusement and lightness in Ross' command. "And chocolate!" said Dem, sitting up a little more and grinning. Lord Falmouth and Dwight, Caroline and Hugh, grinned. Ross grinned too. "We will need sustenance," said Ross as he looked to Demelza who nodded her agreement. "Yes," said Dem as they both smiled at their good friends.

"It's a long story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, Edith Piaf 1956
> 
> Non, rien de rien  
> Non, je ne regrette rien  
> Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait  
> Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal !
> 
> Non, rien de rien  
> Non, je ne regrette rien  
> C'est payé, balayé, oublié  
> Je me fous du passé !
> 
> Avec mes souvenirs  
> J'ai allumé le feu  
> Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs  
> Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux !
> 
> Balayées les amours  
> Et tous leurs trémolos  
> Balayés pour toujours  
> Je repars à zéro
> 
> Non, rien de rien  
> Non, je ne regrette rien  
> Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait  
> Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal !
> 
> Non, rien de rien  
> Non, je ne regrette rien  
> Car ma vie, car mes joies  
> Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi
> 
> No, nothing at all, No! I don't regret anything  
> Not the good people have done for me  
> Not the bad, it's all the same to me.  
> No, nothing at all, No! I don't regret anything  
> It's paid for, swept away, forgotten,  
> I couldn’t care less about the past
> 
> With my memories, I lit up a fire  
> My troubles, my pleasures, I don't need them anymore  
> Swept away my love stories, and all their drama  
> Swept away for always, I start again from zero
> 
> Non! Nothing at all, no, I don’t regret anything,  
> Not the good people have done for me  
> Not the bad, it's all the same to me.  
> No, nothing at all, No! I don't regret anything  
> Because my life, my joys  
> Today, they begin with you.
> 
> Floral Essences: Bach's Flower Remedies are little vials of homeopathic flower tincture that are said to be able to balance one's emotional state.


	19. How Do You Feel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the outside, looking in

Progress and modernity. The 1950s gave way to the 1960s and progress was the order of the day. One by one, in England, the name "Magdalene" was removed from many of the institutional girl's homes. It was seen as too old fashioned and drew a bright line between institutions that still bore the term in Ireland and the English ones that strove for the veneer of modernity. In truth, of course, life for the girls was much the same. The girl's home took in laundry for many grand estates and businesses in the nearby towns, with a reputation for exceptional cleanliness. The sisters ruled with an iron fist. Those who were fallen, had their babies spirited away to good homes or disposed of discreetly in a dignified burial. Those who were troubled, rendered up by their families to receive discipline and order from difficult circumstances, were filthy sinners made clean in honest work. The girls were expected to work hard and be grateful for the mercy the institution provided. The ladies were made respectable through honest work and the guidance of the matrons who took their vocation very seriously. The new girls were examined, interviewed and then dispatched to their responsibilities. Many young girls were not physically fit enough to begin as laundresses. In the case of Demelza Carne her duties were considered with great consternation. Having been beaten severely by her father, she was not fit to work at all. The broken weals and cuts on her back had to close up before she could do anything at all. She spent the first month at the Home recuperating from her injuries in the maternity ward. Demelza was not fallen, not pregnant, as the other girls in the ward were, but it was the only place they could keep Dem in her brutally beaten state. She could not lodge with the other girls, in the dormitory, with her back so raw. She lay on her front, listless and quiet among the other girls who wept and shrieked from labor and wept and shrieked to have their babies removed from them. In time, Dem's back did heal. It became time to give Dem work within the Home. It was a rare fourteen year old who could start right away in the laundry, though some with stout physique did from time to time. Carne was so spindly,(and of course prone to indolence if her drunken father was any indication of her disposition) the only work she could be put to was helping in the kitchen. She was quiet and obedient. This was seen as a good thing. Her family background was so low the matrons had prepared themselves to have to deal with Dem as a discipline problem from the first. She was obedient and caused no trouble. It was decided that her duties could expand to tending the kitchen garden, a task that meant she was not watched as closely by the matrons for she was outside. But this was not seen as a problem. Demelza Carne was meek, cowed by her father's discipline and to some degree "housebroken" from the start. A wrought iron fence one one side a stone wall on the other, both quite tall meant there was no chance of falling into trouble out on the grounds by herself.

Dem, weeded, singing to herself as she did so. The days were long and the matrons were ill tempered but it was better that being with Pa. There was no schooling here. The girls worked and slept and sang hymns on Sunday, the only day of rest they were permitted. Dem did not miss school either. The other kids were noisy and they took up so much of the teacher's time they could not give her much attention. Dem missed the library. She often stayed at the library to avoid going home and there she found a beautiful world of books filled with poems with words one could lose themselves in and art with beautiful pictures to look at. She would stay until she was told to leave for closing time, gently. The librarian always praised Dem's choices and often suggested things she might like. She always told Dem it was closing up time gently. Girls could not leave the Home. In truth the girl's home was a form of incarceration. Dem missed the library. Demelza was an optimist, in some ways. Life at the Home was not very nice but she was allowed to be a gardener, a job she enjoyed and took seriously. The cooks were prone to insult as she fetched and carried heavy trays and bowls and swept and scrubed, but not as bad as Pa. Whether it was school or a family member or Pa himself she did not know who sent her here but she had time to herself out in the open air, the matrons were satisfied with her work and she was no longer in Pa's grasp.

She carried the basket of weeds to the refuse pile, to be burned by the custodian, and dumped them out. As she walked back to weed and tend the other side, carrying her empty basket she slowed. The carrot tops growing near the iron fence were moving strangely. She stood looking as a hand felt about the carrots, trying to pull one out. Someone put their arm between the rails in bottom of the fence and was trying to take a carrot out of the garden. The hand caught hold of one but the fronds of the carrot top broke off. The hand let go and sought to try a different one. Dem walked closer, fascinated. At the sound of her footstep the hand drew itself away, like a snake. Dem walked to the corner of the fence and peered through the plants growing there to see who was there. Whoever it was had gone. Dem looked at the carrot. The top was pulled off, it might be overlooked. One carrot. She pulled it out and patted the hole covered with dirt. Not satisfied by the look of this, she moved a different carrot back in its place and made the rows look untouched, patting the area tidy with her trowel. Patting the dirt flat around the placement of the other carrot made it look as if nothing was wrong. She wiped as much dirt as she could off the first carrot and laid it by the base of the iron fence. The person might come back. They must have been hungry.

"Carne!"

"Coming!"

Dem hurried to the building. If you were tardy, responding to commands, they took your bread away at dinner. Once she had gone and the yard was silent. The hand returned and pulled the carrot away.

Dem was not the only garden worker. She worked on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The owner of the carrot snatching hand had to wait a day before being able to thank the red headed girl who left him the carrot and covered the theft by rearranging the garden row.

"Miss?"

Demelza, kneeling in the garden in a blue pinafore, looked up suddenly. Someone had called to her. A boy...? Ross' first proper look at Dem sealed his fate. She turned to look round. She had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen, light and dark at the same time, blue and green and starlight. She had eyes that caught the light and sparkled like stars. Looked up with her red hair bound with a rag tied around her head and lips like cupid's bow, a sweet little mouth that whispered, "Who's there?" She turned to face the iron fence and could see a dark silhouette near the grass at the fence's base. Ross could see she had a sign hung on a string at her neck. "Thief" "Oh no! Oh, Miss! I am sorry if taking the carrot made trouble for you!" Dem smiled sadly. "They did not find out about the carrot. I was late to dinner and my bread was taken away. A girl felt sorry for me and gave me half of hers but the matron said I had stolen her bread through deception. I have to wear it one more day... I'll be allowed my bread tomorrow..." "That's horrible!" cried Ross. "Shhhh! They will be cross if they hear you. It isn't right, talking to a boy..." It was strange. One should not be able to _hear_ a grin but Dem had the strange sensation of just such a thing. "Thank you, for the carrot. My name is Ross. What's yours?" She smiled shyly. "I'm Dem. My name is Demelza..." A pause. Ross tried her name on his tongue. Rolled it in his mouth like tasting a plum or a cherry. "Demelza... What a wonderful name, Dem! What does it mean? Do you know?" He watched her speak, a pretty smile over a crude sign that said "Thief". "It means, 'Thy Sweetness'." She blushed prettily. It was one of the few things she could remember her mother saying to her. She would touch her fingertip to Dem's nose twice and say "Thy Sweetness, Thy Sweetness, My Sweetness!" and then kiss Dem's nose. The memory of it made her happy. Ross sat up a little more. "I'm pleased to meet you, Sweetness!" smiled Ross.

  
Ross was a vagabond. The preferred term, something timeless and romantic. He was on the road and waiting for news of a ship he could stow away on to Marseilles. "I shall go to France and then anywhere at all!" That sounded exciting. Dem thought boys were lucky. She ran away when she was twelve but she was brought back. A young girl wandering about alone was too obviously in need of assistance, 'where's your mother, dearie?', 'who's daughter are you?' Dem was back home and beaten within an inch of her life within six hours... "Dem?" She had sunk herself into that memory. "Sorry..." This boy, shadowy and obscured by the plants at the fence seemed very nice. "Are you hungry, Ross? There's apple trees across the yard..." "Thank you, Dem. But I won't risk you getting into trouble. I had a fry up today!" Dem nearly forgot what eggs and sausage tasted like. It was porridge, every morning, at the Home. "Oh! I bet that was gorgeous! And a fried tomato...?" "Yes! I made a packet yesterday! I have enough to go to the cafe again this week!" "What do you do for money?" asked Dem. "I busk. I play my guitar and some people throw change in my case. I sit next to my open guitar case and play music!" Dem thought that a noble occupation. They talked a while longer. They each knew they had made the acquaintance of a friend.

"Carne!"

Dem sat up with a jolt. "Coming!"

"Goodbye, Sweetness," whispered Ross. Dem said nothing but smiled at the dark area by the gate before running back indoors. It sweetened Ross' dreams that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Do You Feel?, Jefferson Airplane 1967
> 
> Look into her eyes  
> Do you see what I mean  
> Just look at her hair  
> And when she speaks, oh what a pleasant surprise
> 
> How do you feel  
> Just look at her smile  
> Do you see what I mean  
> She is looking our way  
> Oh how I wish we could stay, just stay for a while  
> How do you feel
> 
> When I meet a girl like that  
> I don't know what to say  
> But to meet a girl like that  
> Brightens up my day  
> My day, oh  
> How do you feel
> 
> Just look at her walk  
> Do you see what I mean  
> She is coming our way  
> Oh, how my heart beats, I don't even think I can talk  
> How do you feel
> 
> When I meet a girl like that  
> I don't know what to say  
> But to meet a girl like that  
> Brightens up my day  
> My day, oh  
> How do you feel  
> How do you feel  
> Do you know how you feel  
> Just look at her smile  
> (Tell me how do you feel)  
> Look into her eyes  
> (Tell me how do you feel)  
> She is coming our way  
> (Tell me how do you feel)  
> Look into her eye  
> (Tell me how do you feel)  
> She is coming our way  
> (Tell me how do you feel) 
> 
> I made a packet: earned a lot of money 
> 
> Dem's punishment of being made to wear a "thief" sign for accepting another inmate's gift of sharing bread was a real life occurrence from oral histories of life in Magdalene Laundries. One of the least harrowing stories from these places that "rehabilitated" women and girls, the last of which closed in 1996. Magdalene Asylums became notorious in Ireland as survivors came forward in recent decades to bring attention to the abusive treatment they received and demand formal apologies and compensation. They did also exist in the rest of the U.K., Canada and in the United States. They were not uniformly Catholic institutions. They began in England, in 1758, as a Protestant concern. 
> 
> "disposed of discreetly in a dignified burial": That line was written in sarcasm. To avoid unpleasantness and harrowing true stories, do not Google 'Magdalene Laundries', just... don't...


	20. Magic Carpet Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flight

Three days a week, Dem had conversations with Ross as she tended the garden. Ross entered the Home's property from the unattended back, an eyesore of untended brush and foul streams of wastewater from the laundry, abutting a tall, imposing stone wall. He could not be seen on the other side of the iron fence from the front of the property because a disabled laundry truck was parked, abandoned, in front of the corner where the stone wall and the iron fence met. They spoke of books and art, something they both enjoyed as a relief from school. School was something they both disliked. Ross was fifteen, finished at school and bound for adventure. Dem liked their chats and envied Ross' freedom. She left apples for him, at the base of the fence, sometimes. Sometimes Ross would share sweets with her, pass candy through the iron fence. Sugar dusted, vividly pink and yellow, Rhubarb and Custards. Dusty, pale green, Chocolate Limes with a glossy dark brown stripe through them. Shiny, satiny, black and white striped Bulls Eyes. Brightly colored sweets, laying like jewels in the grass. Ross liked to talk to Dem. He did not believe it was right that a clever girl like Dem should live trapped in a jail, made to work all hours like Cinderella, given porridge and beans and having what bread was allowed taken away all the time. Ross felt Dem should leave the Home. The idea would not leave him alone. She was nice. She liked the same sort of things he did. She was clever and liked poetry and art. Dem had a beautiful voice. Ross had listened to her, laying by the fence, in secret, before he dared to try and take a carrot from the garden. Ross enjoyed listening to her sing before he even realized there was a garden in there. He lay by the fence, hidden behind the laundry truck and enough plants growing about property that the girl did not see him at the base of the fence. He learned which days Dem would be outside because whoever else was in the yard the other days worked in silence. Ross listened to Dem, singing to herself as she worked. He heard Dem's melancholy sigh when that old battleaxe yelled, "Carne!" and Dem scrambled to her feet to obey. A pretty nightingale in a cage. Couldn't she escape the cage? Wouldn't it be nice to see the world with a friend in tow? They could busk together and share the takings. A young girl should be free and happy, sing to the open air... but girls needed looking after. Ross could look after Dem. Stay with her and keep her safe. They could be friends and share and share alike. Two for the road! Be like Jack Kerouac and explore what the streets of Europe had to offer, Adventure! Music! Art! They could travel, together, and be friends and not be lonely... 'Dem should be free too...' thought Ross. By the third week he told her so. "Dem?" Dem did not look up. They often conversed this way. She did not want to be seen bringing attention to the corner of the wall. Dem whispered as she gathered onions, stacking them in a small wooden crate sitting by her knees. "Hello, Ross. Did you busk this morning?" She could hear the smile in his voice. "Yes! I made a respectable showing. I can take you to the cafe! We can have a fry up!" Dem turned to look at him then. "Ross!" she hissed in a disappointed whisper. "Don't be teasy! I haven't had bacon or eggs in so long..." Ross spoke with sympathy. "I don't mean to tease you, Dem! I do want to take you to the cafe! The ship leaves tonight! Come with me Dem! Come to France! We can eat up for the journey and then hide until the boat leaves!" Dem's mouth fell open. Leave the Home? "But Ross!" Dem's whisper was tinged with a sort of hysteria. If a fry up was an unattainable dream, the suggestion that she could be free of this place was an out of reach miracle. "The minute I set foot in the street they'd send me back. The whole town knows what a blue pinafore means!" Ross had prepared for this eventuality. "You can wear my extra clothes! If you look like a boy no one will know you came from the Home!" Dem could see a brown eye blinking at her through the plants by the fence. Suddenly, there were two brown eyes. Ross pushed his hair out of the way and looked at Dem. "I don't want to land in borstal," said Ross, "and you don't want to be locked up in here! Be free! We can go to France and call our souls our own!" Dem looked dumbfounded. This boy was telling her to run away. She looked around the yard. She was still alone. She had about fifteen minutes before they would call her back in. Her brain cast around in different directions. In truth, she didn't even know what Ross looked like, not properly. Could she run off, out of the country, with a boy she didn't even know? A boy that didn't know her? Clearly he thought, since they liked so many of the same things, she was like him. She almost felt sorry for Ross. He was wrong to think she was brave. It was a pity that she was not the sort of girl he imagined her to be. Nor ever had been, nor ever conceivably could be. Dem opened her mouth to say no. The only sensible answer... Dem looked at the Home. A hugh, drab, old building with windows that were barred. Weeping girls and disappeared babies, porridge every day, working from sun up to sun down, the noxious haze of bleach and detergents in the corridors that stung her eyes. Singing 'Ave Maria' and a grudging little cup of rice pudding or junket on Sunday as the only respite in a cheerless week. Saying no was the only answer. "Dem," said Ross. "I promise, we'll stay together! I won't leave you. We'll be joined at the hip! We can busk together! With me playing guitar and you singing, we'll make pots of money! Come away with me, Dem! I will be gone tomorrow. I couldn't stand it to know you were still locked up in here!" A portion of blue denim pushed through the iron bars of the fence. Dem left apples for Ross at that portion of the iron fence. Watching a boy's pair of jeans appear there was as much temptation as the fall of man. The snake's suggestion to taste the apple tempted Eve no less... "Will you come?" asked Ross, "Please!" he said, hoping she would say yes, hoping she would be his friend. Dem felt the awareness of danger, caution, common sense, calculation beginning to scream at her. It would be a terrible thing to run away from the Home with a boy she didn't even know, whose eyes were so kind and beautiful..."Yes!" said Dem. Another hint of Ross' face through the fence. A wide, happy grin. Ross pushed blue jeans and a blue button down shirt into the garden. She pulled off her shoes and put the jeans on. She crammed her feet back in her shoes, not risking the time it would take to untie them and then pulled the pinafore off. She pushed it to Ross through the fence and he stuffed it into his shoulder bag. She looked all around and as quickly as she could took off the shirt. A white button shirt with a Peter Pan collar. She put on Ross' shirt and buttoned it up. Ross added the shirt to his bag and then fumbled about with an oversized book, opening it to, roughly, the middle and grasping one side with both hands. "Climb over! I've got a book!" Dem knit her brows in confusion. "What...?" But she soon saw what he meant. Ross had a thick book, like an atlas, and he flung it at the top of the fence. It draped with the spine across the top, covered the spikes at the top of the fence. It was just enough for a girl as thin as Dem to get over the spikes without being hurt by them. Dem laughed in spite of herself and climbed up and over the wall. She pulled and grasped and slid up the iron rails. She gained a little, slipped down a bit and then redoubled her efforts to get back up. Dem slid and pulled and even giggled a little trying to get to the top. She imagined she must look like an inchworm, wriggling up the fence, and it made her laugh. Ross was crouched behind the laundry truck, clutching a man's hat, frozen in position as if he awaited a starter pistol at a race. The guitar case lay flat, in the grass, by his knee. He watched, with tense interest, her progress. If they got caught they wouldn't let her out anymore. This was their only chance. Even in this, this bid for escape, she giggled at her feet sliding about, like she was enjoying using a climbing frame in a playground. Ross was caught between fear and admiration, looking up lips parted in nervousness, eyes bright in the spectacle of her happy struggle. 'Dem is wonderful!' thought Ross. It was hard but Dem got herself up, got over the side. She pulled the book down with her, trying to slide down a rail like a fireman. She got halfway down before she lost her grasp, fumbling with the book, and fell to the grass. She was not hurt. She looked up, laughing, to see the face that she would wake up to for the rest of her life, though Dem did not know it then. A dark eyed boy with long hair and a beaten up guitar case in one hand, a man's hat in the other. A bag over his shoulder. He wore jeans and a tee shirt under a black anorak and black shoes like boys wore to school. He had a smile that lit his whole face. Ross stood over Dem after she landed with a giggle over the fence and the book landed with a flapping thud next to her. She wriggled herself onto her back and lay propped up on her elbows, laughing up at him. Her hair was loose, a glorious mane a lion might envy. Her fingers were half covered with the shirt sleeves, cuffs unbuttoned, splayed on the grass. Long, elegant fingers near her stomach that was shaking from her laughing. She drew up her knees to stand as she looked up at him with merry eyes. She was as thin as he was and it helped the illusion of looking like a boy. She could pass for a boy with her height and thin arms. Not when you looked at her full in the face, though, hair down. Dem was, every bit, a girl. A very pretty girl. Ross set down the guitar case. "Are you alright?" He asked as he extended his hand to help her up. "Yes, thank you..." She stuffed her hair up into a trilby hat he gave her. She looked suitably male if one squinted. His grin might have lit a city block. "Come on! We can just make the bus!" They stole a look around the laundry truck. The coast was clear. They grew smaller in the distance and the sound of their footsteps lessened as the book lay, forlorn and abandoned with its spine askew, broken, in the grass and tangle of plants by the iron fence in the quiet, blue sky afternoon. A long haired kid holding a guitar case by the handle, bag slung over one shoulder, running alongside his friend, further and further away. Too far away now to hear, "Carne!" sound through the yard. They ran, behind the Home, through overgrown scrub and hard packed dirt, past the culvert that poured the laundry's water away, to the road, then into town, then to the high street and caught the bus. Ross paid for both of them and they sat on the top. There were only two other people, not paying them any mind. Dem took off the hat and braided her hair so it would sit flatter under the hat. This made her much less feminine looking because she tucked the braid up into the hat. The two boys rode the length of the bus route for they had an important itinerary. They had a fry up to eat and a ship to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magic Carpet Ride, Steppenwolf 1968
> 
> I like to dream, yes, yes  
> Right between the sound machine  
> On a cloud of sound I drift in the night  
> Any place it goes is right  
> Goes far, flies near  
> To the stars away from here  
> Well, you don't know what  
> We can find  
> Why don't you come with me little girl  
> On a magic carpet ride  
> Well, you don't know what  
> We can see  
> Why don't you tell your dreams to me  
> Fantasy will set you free  
> Close your eyes girl  
> Look inside girl  
> Let the sound take you away  
> Last night I hold Aladdin's lamp  
> So I wished that I could stay  
> Before the thing could answer me  
> Well, someone came and took the lamp away  
> I looked  
> Around  
> A lousy candle's all I found  
> Well, you don't know what  
> We can find  
> Why don't you come with me little girl  
> On a magic carpet ride  
> Well, you don't know what  
> We can see  
> Why don't you tell your dreams to me  
> Fantasy will set you free  
> Close your eyes girl  
> Look inside girl  
> Let the sound take you away
> 
> Be like Jack Kerouac: "On The Road", written in 1957, was a romanticized telling of a road trip that captured the imagination of many young people for decades after.
> 
> Borstal: juvenile detention
> 
> Junket: milk pudding thickened with rennet
> 
> Peter Pan collar: a flat collar with rounded edges


	21. Come Sail Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stowaways

Dem felt like she had died and gone to heaven. A heavy, ceramic plate filled to burst with scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, an oblong slab of white pudding with a crisp, darkened crust on the top side from being laid flat on the griddle and not moved, fried button mushrooms and two, thick cut, slices of fried tomato, gilded from heat and shiny with fat. The toasted bread had sopped up fat too and Ross splurged on orange squash and a plate of chips to share between them. Ross warned they would have to eat up now for he only had a packet of cream crackers for the boat. They would have a bottle of squash each but they would stow away and have no proper bathroom to use. They would drink sparingly on the boat. Ross and Dem were at a corner table of a workingman's cafe, Ross' guitar case proped up at the corner like a third companion, looking to all the world like two brothers or cousins who were given money by their mum or dad for meal and eating it up in a joyful greed. The waitress smiled over them, eating like starvelings and 'good for it'. They paid up, right away, and no monkey business. Not ordering a feast and then trying to sneak out without paying. Some young boys tried it on, tried to eat and skip off without paying. She gave them extra chips. They were good boys who were thin and needed feeding up, she thought. Ross concentrated on his food. Concentrated on the teeny gold specks in the Formica tabletop. Ate up heartily and, occasionally, took sneaky little peeks at his travelling companion as they both knocked out their fry up. Dem, with her hat on, did look enough like a boy to make things easy for them. Ross knew that there were some about that wanted at boys, he had scrapes with a few but always got away. Even so, being a boy was safer than being a girl. He could look after her better if she dressed as a boy. Dem looked up from her enthusiastic eating. Ross colored a little, embarrassed to be caught watching her. They blinked a sort of agreement that it was not strange to look at the person you agreed to travel with. Dem took a good look at her companion. He blushed a bit, smiled a bit, chewing his food with an earnest expression. Ross had a very honest face. That was a matter of opinion really but, to her, Ross looked honest and would keep his pledge not to leave her. He seemed very brave, out and about on his own. He seemed a little shy too. Perhaps it was hard to be brave all the time. Perhaps he was afraid sometimes too... He promised to stay with her and he clearly meant it. It was only right to pledge the same to him, thought Dem, if they would be travellers together. She swallowed down a wondrous tasting bite of mushroom, toast, bacon and tomato, all at once. "I promise stay with you and look after you Ross!" she said cheerfully. He blinked from surprise, a chip paused halfway to his mouth. He had not considered himself to need looking after but that was a nice thing to hear. She watched a happy smile spread across Ross' face. She mirrored it back. "I promise too!" smiled Ross. They shook on it. It was a greasy sort of handshake but that was not a bad thing. Having begun their adventure in plenty, perhaps that would bless the entire undertaking. Once they finished, they walked off their giant meal, near the dock with the longshoremen of the daytime walking the opposite way. Going home after loading cargo. The nightwatch and night workers would show up soon. It was precisely within this grey area of time that a boy with a guitar case and his companion could melt into the background and climb on board the One And All, bound for Marseilles and adventures anew. Ross had heard from a boy on the street, who was clever and did the route regular, that success was assured if you got on through the last gangway where crates were often left out. If you got in first the longshoremen would inadvertently help you by boxing you in with the other crates left about. To ready themselves for the voyage, they sought to empty their bladders as much as possible. They held their water to the point they could feel the need to go in their teeth. Uncomfortable, but the better way to be sure before boarding that they were tip top empty. Ross had an easier time relieving himself because of his anatomy. Hidden behind giant coils of rope and grotty, old, abandoned barrels Dem had to crouch down and display a fair bit of herself to manage, hanging herself over the side of the dock, aiming into the water, clinging to a wooden rail that she not fall backwards. Ross blushed crimson but they soon became used to each other. Though they often got an eyeful of each other at close quarters it was a situation that became commonplace and absorbed into what was. Dispassionate and unremarkable. The business of ones toilet, out and about, called for the sort of tolerance and forbearance for the other they both became able to give. Dem had no belongings and offered to carry Ross' shoulder bag. This was agreed to and they made their way, with stealth, to the ship.

Lights glittered on the dark water in moving patches. There were not many people about. Rats were more active along the ship's gangways. Rats were canny. Traps were laid, they inspired fear and mistrust. However one tried to control or remove them, the rats always seemed to come out on top. Ross and Dem did not intend to live on the street, but circumstance intervened. Ross and Dem entered that life and soon came to see themselves in these terms. It was a common insult, across Europe, that kids in the street often chose themselves as a badge of honor. To be a "Street Rat" was a breed apart. True blue, savvy, not slumming for thrills with a cushion of money. Tough, not running back home when the cold weather came. Dependable, keeping one's own counsel, not betraying a confidence, standing up for your friends, not condemning another's choice to get by for you might well make it yourself one day. Smart, careful of tricks, careful of grown ups that promised assistance. These were the virtues they imagined for themselves and even achieved, sometimes. When failure happened, when ill luck or miscalculation brought problems, that did not demote you. It became another plate of one's armor. It was part of ascending to being a "Street Rat", in truth. Taking the smooth with the rough and living to battle another day.

The guitar case was long and bulky but it was Ross' breadwinner and it had to join them. After much experimentation, Dem realized they could sit it at an angle and hide the telltale neck behind a crate, to the rear of them. Ross was grateful and impressed. Already Dem had shown an ingenuity that he might not have managed himself. The storage area stank of urine. Possibly that of rats, possibly previous stowaways as well. Dem lay her head against a crate, trying to find relief for her cramped legs and feeling the beginnings of a stomach ache."Oh, I feel some queer..." whispered Dem. She felt a little sick, the stench, the rich food she had feasted upon, and nervous, having taken the drastic step of running away. Ross sympathized. He unwrapped the packet of crackly cellophane and gave her a cream cracker to settle her stomach. It was dry and tasteless to some degree. "It will soak up the fry up!" said Ross with the cheerful optimism of an armchair physician. "Thanks..." whispered Dem. She did feel a bit better for it. Ross grasped her arm. In the dim she could see him put his finger to his lips. Time to be quiet. Shoving and straining wood were heard. Thumping. The men were loading the other crates. Stomping and muttering. Swearing and an argument over football. Silence. The deafening sound of the cargo door closing and the squeak of rats in the hold with them. Dem could not see. They could not risk talking. The voyage was hot and uncomfortable. Rats came near but ran off. The rats were as afraid of Ross and Dem as they feared the vermin. Ross risked whispering, "Don't be afraid, Sweetness. We're on our way!" It was odd. One should not be able to _hear_ a grin, but Ross felt he did. He sensed Dem's smile and it cheered him. They were on their way. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Sail Away, Styx 1977
> 
> I'm sailing away  
> Set an open course for the Virgin Sea  
> 'Cause I've got to be free  
> Free to face the life that's ahead of me  
> On board I'm the captain  
> So climb aboard  
> We'll search for tomorrow  
> On every shore and I'll try  
> Oh Lord I'll try  
> To carry on  
> I look to the sea  
> Reflections in the waves spark my memory  
> Some happy some sad  
> I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had  
> We live happily forever  
> So the story goes  
> But somehow we missed out  
> On that pot of gold  
> But we'll try best that we can  
> To carry on  
> A gathering of angels  
> Appeared above my head  
> They sang to me this song of hope  
> And this is what they said  
> They said, come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me (lads)  
> Come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me  
> Come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me (baby)  
> Come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me  
> I thought that they were angels  
> But to my surprise  
> We climbed aboard their starship  
> We headed for the skies  
> Singing, come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me (lads)  
> Come sail away, come sail away  
> Come sail away with me(repeat to fade),
> 
> white pudding: a pale, sausage of meat mixed with rusk, barley or oatmeal to bind it. In this case, sliced lengthwise and fried flat. Black pudding is colored dark with animal blood.
> 
> plate of chips: French fries
> 
> Cream crackers are like saltines, not rich tasting or fancy
> 
> Football: soccer
> 
> *Clears throat* Yes. Well, that was fun wasn't it? We've hit our head on the next gap. I shall scurry away and write more... Back soon...


	22. La Wally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, Marseilles

A strange light entered the hold. Shimmery and elastic, beacons and blobs of light, hovering over all. Sunlight's reflections on the water, rippling up, dancing light on the ceiling, on the walls, on the crates. The ship had come to port and crates were being removed. Two rats stared at Ross and Dem, their snouts bobbing up, sniffing, looking intently, down and around, beady little eyes shinning, little whiskers twitching, from the top of the crate they were hidden behind and ran off. Ross wondered if they might be travelling together too, and run about France, together, as he and Dem would. Strange fancies occur when you're squashed in an overwarm, smelly cargo hold... Ross risked pulling the guitar case near, keeping hold of the handle. Dem looked at him, waiting to be told what to do. Hiding was simple. Getting out without being seen was hard to fathom. And what if the longshoremen took away the crates they were hidden behind? Nowhere to escape. Ross put his fingers to his lips and risked looking over the crate. Men were hauling crates down the gangplank on dollies. Ross' eyes looked from one side to the other. A man turned his way and, with widened eyes of fright, Ross ducked back down behind the crate. The man thought he caught movement by the far left corner but shrugged it off when he got a better look. Two rats ran across the crate. He turned to the man nearest him and complained in French, "They need to do something about all these rats! It smells like a urinal in here..." Because the back end of the hold was so smelly and rat infested the workers were in no hurry to deal with the section Demelza and Ross were hiding in. Ross and Dem stayed still and quiet. The boy who told him of the ship said to wait for their break and they would all go to the cafe. Then he and Dem had to get down the gangplank as fast as they could. Some were speaking English. Spoken French floated over them, the lyrical, rapid talk made Ross and Dem grin. They were in Marseilles! Their happiness trebled because the smile of the other made them more excited. Bound for new adventures and not alone. To see what could be seen with a new friend. A man put his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Clanging of the thick, metal dollies was heard. They just left all as it lay and went for their break. Ross peeked again, then crouched to whisper to Dem. "They've gone on their break. We'll have to bolt! Stay close to me. We'll figure out which way to go once we're on the street!" She nodded, eyes bright with excitement and swallowed down her nerves. Dem put Ross' bag more firmly on her shoulder. They stood, climbed over the crate and stood up straight, grimacing. Their legs felt terrible. They had to run but they had been so cramped and still their legs were killing them. Ross groaned, whispered, "My legs feel like they've been put through a mangle! But we must run, ready!?" Dem nodded. They walked slowly to the gangplank, frightened the someone might see them but shaking with happy anticipation.

It was impossible to run. Ross and Dem nearly limped out of the hold for the sake of their cramped legs. But no one was about and the sun shone on the water like handfuls of diamonds tossed in the air. Gulls flew and squawked as smaller seabirds darted around. Cast shiny eyes at these strange, slow creatures, lugging a bag and a guitar and filling their lungs with fresh air. Dem looked to Ross as they scanned the area. His hair blew in the breeze and he was in profile, testing the air like a wild animal. Looking about warily and in awe too. His chin raised eyes darting everywhere and then turned to her. Ross looked at Dem. She was alert and watchful. The hat helped her look less like a girl but the bright morning light made her eyes rinsed through with color. Blue and green and her pupils black and tiny. A tiny jot amidst bright colored, sparkling eyes. He cleared his throat. "This way, there is a bus that the fruit pickers catch!" Dem smiled. Ross already had a way to earn money, busking, and a promise of work. They got off the boat unseen. Things were going their way. Her legs even felt a bit better for walking. Ross and Dem walked among crates of goods, warehouses where seafood were being hauled and cleaned and sorted. They walked past workingman's cafes and wholesalers dealing goods to sharply dressed buyers and some modestly attired too, making up for the disparity in their wardrobe with louder voices and more extravagant gestures. In the shouting and talking, in the heaving and haggling, two kids were an unremarkable addition to a workaday normality, so busy and vibrant the shuttling workers and people around them had no cause to pay them mind. Ross looked about and they risked relieving themselves in an alley. Ross first and then standing guard nearer the mouth of the alley so Dem could too. Settled, they turned into a cobbled street that bustled with all sorts of people. Under a stone bridge their were people standing around waiting. Ross approached a man with a clip board who seemed to be organizing them. Ross looked at the man, heavy set with a knobby nose. Ross' eyes widened to see the hand that held the clip board had part of his third finger missing at the knuckle. It was healed smooth and was shorter than the others. "Is this the fruit bus? Er... Les fruits?" The man smirked with a gravelly voice asked, "Anglais? You talk English?" Ross and Dem nodded. "You want to pick the fruit?" They nodded again, vigorously. He looked them over. Young lads. Young for it but they would do. "Wait for le autobus..." Ross and Demelza stood on line with the others. The growers in the area, happy to have workers off the books, happy to have what workers there were housed on site and given their dinner, happy to have pickers to do the work and overlook immigration status, brought a minibus around to round up those who would be amiable to a mutually beneficial relationship. A dormitory bed and a meal a day. Modest wages and no probing questions. Ross told Dem they would save their wages and then rent a room when the season was over. They would share a room in a boarding house with the money they made picking fruit and busk to supplement their income. Sing for their supper, so to speak. Dem thought this was a good plan. Ross was excited because pooling their money would give them a better room. Shelter in the cold weather and a place to lay their head at night. He had made these plans with no expectation that he would have a companion. Now that he did have a partner, to pool resources, to talk to, to share this new life, Ross was very happy.

The people waiting were mostly older. They eyed Ross' guitar case with interest. Might the wait be lessened with some music? Many different languages were spoken among the waitees. French of course but many different people from many different places were trying their luck in France and the chatter, in pairs, in larger knots of three or four, spoke in their language of origin. Many had their French. Many had broken English. It was a helpful thing to know some English. This helped Ross and Dem for the entirety of their European adventure. They never became fluent in French but they learned the language of the streets very well. They learned that "talking", making oneself understood for the shadow citizens of the hand to mouth world of immigrants, indigent vagabonds, runaways and the interface between the "straight" world and what became their place, the world of the outsiders, was flexible and forgiving. One could make themselves understood in a gathering where none of the participants spoke the same language. It served, for the rest of their lives, like a true second language. The beginnings of their new mode of communication started in this wait for the bus.

Several people mimicked strumming an invisible guitar and Ross looked to the man with the clip board. He smiled with a shrug. He might have said, "Hey, we're all stuck here. Why not?" Ross smiled at Dem and he put the case flat, to open it up. A plain, maple wood, guitar seemed to smile up at Dem as she watched Ross open the case. The guitar case was black, inside and out, and the light color of the wood was bright in its home. Ross lifted it out and shut the case. He put the strap over his shoulder and smiled, turning this way and that, nodded 'Hello!', looking at the people around them. He ran his hand through his hair, combing it back with his fingers, briefly. It charmed Dem. Ross tidied himself for his audience, out of self respect, out of respect for the listeners. Dem grinned. Ross' sense of showmanship was very sweet. He had heard her sing. Now she would hear him play guitar. Ross had a think. 'Something snappy, we're waiting to go somewhere...' He strummed like the rhythm of a train on a track and in a bright, strong voice that held a happy lilt in it, began by drawing out 'Well...' for a bit.

Welllllllllllll.....!"

The man say, 'Well, you alright boy, just get on through

You don't have to pay me nothin'"

And then the train go through

And when he go through the tollgate

The train gotta have a little bit of steam and a little bit of speed

And when the driver think he safely on the other side

He shouts back down the line to the man and he says

I fooled you, I fooled you I got pig iron,

I got pig iron I got all pig iron

Now I'll tell you where I'm goin' boy

Down the rock island line is a might good road

The rock island line is the road to ride, yeah

The rock island line is a mighty good road

Well, if you want to ride you gotta ride it like you find it get your ticket at the station

Of the rock island line!

The cheerful avalanche of Ross speeding up through singing and playing the chorus made the people around them smile and laugh and go "Ahhh!" with amusement. Dem giggled for Ross had an infectious smile while he sang. He knew he was good. He wanted to make the people feel light and happy. She began to clap and many in the line took the clapping up with her. Ross continued,

I may be right, I may be wrong

You know, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone

Down the rock island line is a might good road

Oh, the rock island line is the road to ride

The rock island line is a mighty good road

If you want to ride you gotta ride it like you find it get your ticket at the station

Of the rock island line

Hey you, are safe within The good Lord's comin' to see me again

Down the rock island line is a might good road

Oh, the rock island line is the road to ride

The rock island line is a mighty good road

If you want to ride you gotta ride it like you find it get your ticket at the station

Of the rock island line

A, B, C, W, X, Y, Z

The cats on the cupboard but he don't see me

Down the rock island line is a might good road

Oh, the rock island line is the road to ride

The rock island line is a mighty good road

If you want to ride you gotta ride it like you find it get your ticket at the station

Of the rock island line!

Ross ended with a flourish, picking the melody and ending on a ringing chord. There was laughter and applause and the man with the clip board raised his good hand to the sky saying, "Ooh la la, we've got a live one here!", in French, and everyone laughed more, good naturedly. Dem smiled the widest with a flurry of clapping. "You're that good, Ross!" And his smile was darling. He was proud but a little bashful too. You could see his feelings in his face and, over time, Dem learned to read Ross as successfully as she learned street argot. He put the guitar back in the case and his song had helped. The bus swayed and bumped on the rounded cobbles, approaching the bridge, and the wait was made more pleasant for his performance.

They filed onto the bus and they did not all fit. The next bus was an hour wait and Ross sighed. They must keep their place or risk getting no seat again. The man with the clipboard shrugged. "You closer now. Next bus will take you..." Having the people ahead moved on to the first bus meant Ross and Dem were in an assured position for the next ride. They sat and shared more cream crackers, not risking a drink for they did not want to leave the line or have a full bladder on a bus bobbling along cobblestones. "My legs feel better!" said Ross. "Mine too. Do you think they will let us stay together?" There were women but Dem wasn't sure she wanted to be separated from the only person she knew in this country. "I will insist! We'll say that we are cousins." Ross thought about their toilet situation. "And we will stay together, thick and thin! We will use the bathroom together too." Ross thought this might spare them both problems. Other men would not see that Dem was a girl in a stall and many of the run ins he had with men of ill intent were in toilets. "We'll stay together, Dem! I promise!" And they waited for the bus in an optimistic mood.

The second bus came and they got on. Ross, being a gentleman, offered Dem the seat by the window and sat the guitar balanced, upright, over his feet. This did not leave much room for his legs but he wanted it near and would not take away room on the bench away from Dem. Dem looked out the window at the landscape whizzing by. The town disappeared. Water was in sight for most of the journey, over bridges, alongside, in the distance. The bus was noisy with chatter and the driver had a radio playing. Pop music in French was a constant as well as the chattering disc jockey, talking a mile a minute between songs. Ross watch the landscape and Dem looking out with an excited smile, just visible at the edge of the hat the way her head was turned. They started to see fields. Rows of growing things and the people who toiled to tend and harvest them. Ross couldn't help but notice that the man with the clipboard was not the only person with missing fingers. More than one man had a disfigurement on their hand and it worried him. "Dem," whispered Ross. She turned and they spoke, heads together, quietly. "We must be careful! If we must cut plants with knives we must be very careful! I will not be able to play guitar if I lose a finger!" Dem looked surprised. She had not noticed the man with the clipboard and his missing finger. She looked at other people on the bus. She could see two men with missing fingers sitting near. When she thought of 'picking fruit' it sounded easy. She didn't conceive of the idea one might lose a finger in this work. She whispered. "Yes... We will be extra careful. Maybe they lost them in other ways..." Ross heard the hopeful tone in Dem's voice and hoped that was the case himself. 'Picking fruit' sounded worthy and innocent, easy. The injuries he noticed in the short time he sat among agricultural workers gave him pause.

The bus came to its destination. They disembarked and were told to wait in yet another line to receive their information and be evaluated. In truth, anyone who came was utilized. The turn over was such that getting labor out of as many people who came in made sense. Ross and Dem were the youngest, by far, and the man at the table looked disbelieving when they insisted they were sixteen. They had no identification, could not speak French and looked like choir boys. "Who let these two in here?!" The man called out over their heads. "Robert!" He waved to someone else, beckoned him over and whispered, heads together, gesturing at Ross and Dem as if a waiter had given him the wrong food. They looked at each other, nervously. They could feed themselves busking but they could not rent a room without proper work. A job they could do without being fluent in French was important. The men argued. The man at the desk seemed to counter the other's insistence that they could be put to work. It was decided that Ross and Dem would work and board, but with the women. They were so clearly underage and winsome looking it would be foolish and dangerous to put them with the men. "I like a quiet life..." said the man at the table. "You two go with her. You stay with the women!" Ross and Dem thanked him by saying, in unison, "Merci!" The man gave a bark of a laugh and spoke to the woman in French. "Keep the chicks with the hens and away from the filthy roosters..." She laughed too. "Never fear, they're safe with me... " She looked at them. Knit her brows and looked between them. "You talk anglais?" Ross and Dem nodded. The dark haired one seemed to be the talker, the leader. The red head looked quiet and frail. "You are brother?" Ross said, "Cousins, ma'am," the woman nodded. They stood, looking optimistic and willing to do what they were told. She suspected that they had no family ties at all. Maybe two school pals looking for adventure... The growers overlooked prison sentences, immigration status and many other colorful aspects of their workers lives. They weren't the first underage workers to slip in here and would not be the last. If these kids wanted to work, so be it. "Come..." They followed. Some who had heard Ross waiting for the bus waved and yelled out, "Ses Elvis!", "It's Ringo!", "Jouer de la guitare!" The woman watched Ross and Dem smile with a quiet pride. "You play good music?" She asked, eyeing the guitar case in his hand.

"Yes." smiled Ross.

They were assigned lockers and a bunk bed. They were greeted with affection by the women in the dormitory. Many of them had left their own children behind with relatives and were taken with the two... boys...? Surreptitious study of the redhead ensued. Conclusions were drawn but they let the children keep to their story and did not challenge them. Either way they were safer among the women. Ross set his guitar case at the foot of the bottom bunk. "You take the top, Dem. That's the better bed!" Ross felt she would be safer sleeping higher up and his guitar could stay by him and not risk a fall from a height. "Thank you!" She set his bag down on the floor and sat next to Ross on his bed. They made it to France, had a job and they felt safe among the women. Things were going well. They ate with the women too. There was a rich tasting soup of chicken broth, tomatoes and onions, plenty of bread and hard boiled eggs. Dem never had such a wonderful meal in the Home. Ross smiled to watch her enjoy her food as he enjoyed his too. They were fair about meals here. There was coffee, bread and jam in the morning and a dinner each night. Broth and eggs in the week and meat at the weekend. The women, who knew full well they were underage, gave them milk to drink at meals and were strict over wine and beer being 'interdit', forbidden. Ross and Dem still had their orange squash and clinked the bottles in a toast of triumph. "Marseilles!" They cried, bringing amused laughter from the rest in the room. The women doted on them and resolved to keep them safe. The sun was going down. They slept in their clothes for they had nothing else. They were each given a toothbrush but could not buy toothpaste because the little commissary was already closed. They stuck to their plan of sharing the bathroom stall. Ross and Dem said goodnight and nodded goodnight to the others in their bunks as they walked back to the bunk. Some of the women played cards or were reading magazines. Chatting and sewing or knitting. They wished them goodnight with pleasant smiles. They were cute kids, they thought. Ross and Dem watched the room darken, bit by bit as they lay in their beds. Lights were dotted throughout the dorm. The lights went out at 10, save the glare of the hall light through the window over the door. It pooled at the floor, in front of the door, in a ghostly wedge of light, leaving the rest of the room dim. 

"Goodnight, Dem!" whispered Ross.

"Goodnight, Ross!" whispered Dem.

Well fed, on satisfactory food. Safe in a bed, not terribly lumpy and not that many springs poking you if one found a good place to lay and stayed still. Gainfully employed and determined not to lose any fingers. Secure to have a friend nearby in their new life, Ross and Dem fell asleep in Marseilles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Wally, written by Alfredo Catalani in 1892, as sung by Wilhelmina Wiggins Hernandez 1981
> 
> Ebben? Ne andrò lontana  
> Come va l'eco della pia campana  
> Là, fra la neve bianca;  
> Là, fra le nubi d'or;  
> Laddove la speranza, la speranza  
> È rimpianto, è rimpianto, è dolor!
> 
> O della madre mia casa gioconda  
> La Wally ne andrà da te, da te lontana assai  
> E forse a te, e forse a te non farà mai più ritorno  
> Nè più la rivedrai!  
> Mai più... mai più...
> 
> Ne andrò sola e lontana  
> Come l'eco della pia campana  
> Là, fra la neve bianca;  
> N'andrò, n'andrò sola e lontana!  
> E fra le nubi d'or!
> 
> Well then? I will go far away  
> As far as the echo from the church bell  
> There, amid the white snow  
> There, amid the golden clouds  
> There where hope is, and sorrow and regret
> 
> O, Wally is going far away  
> Far from her mother's joyous home  
> Maybe she'll never return to you  
> You'll never see her again
> 
> I will go alone and far away  
> As far as the echo from the church bell  
> There, amid the white snow  
> I will go, I will go alone and far away  
> And amid the golden clouds
> 
> Rock Island Line was a traditional, American folk song brought to prominence in England by Lonnie Donegann 1955. This was the beginning of the Skiffle craze and the seeds of the start of the guitar careers of many of the famous English Invasion/Beat groups, The Beatles, of course, being the most famous example.  
> For the sake of the story length, the first stanzas are not here. The man innocently tells the train conductor he just has livestock to haul but 'pulls a fast one' on him. He actually has a heavier weighted load of iron, pig iron.
> 
> Still writing, back soon...


	23. Hard Days Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight days a week

The sun wheeled across the sky and the sky cycled from the bright blue of the morning to finish with the subtle pink/purple of a dying day. The workers returned from the fields. Chatting in small groups, singing occasionally. Led by a statuesque woman in a midi, khaki work dress and broad straw hat, bottle blonde and never stirring from her room without lipstick and made up eyes. She had a 'hardbitten' quality. She had a square face, careworn lines at her mouth. Sharp eyes. She could be hard, tough, no nonsense. But she was also 'mumsy'. Wise, thoughtful. Caring and amusing. She could be lighthearted and kind. Very good traits for a overseeing a dormitory full of women from far flung places. Garance's rule was absolute. The men teased and joked and on occasion insulted Garance. Even so she was given, wholeheartedly or grudgingly, the respect due to a queen by the men. She looked after her charges and this day, like any other, she led them back from their work in the fields, the women and the two lanky boys who lodged with them. Allowed to work with a wink and a nod and separated from the men because of their age. English cousins who looked like the pop stars in the magazines, longhairs who never went to a barber. The dark haired one actually played guitar very well. They came in from the fields, looking dead tired among the grown ups but content and doing their work with no slacking. Even the man who looked askance at them when they arrived, giving out that they were sixteen when anyone could see they were not, could admit they worked well and were no trouble.

It took time. It took time to get used to being bent over picking all day. It took time for Ross and Dem to gain strength in their arms and legs. It took time to learn how to 'work smart'. Being kept with the women was a stroke of good fortune. As well as being safer on the job from their protection and maternal instincts, the women taught Ross and Dem their tricks and knowledge and bit by bit they fit within the daily work. They became used to being barefoot in the fields. They were taught to stand and stretch throughout the day. They were taught to crouch down, scolded to not let their backs do the work, told to kneel and pick all that was in front of them rather than bend over the plants all day. They were taught to alternate the sling on their shoulder, day to day, so they would distribute the weight on both sides and let both arms grow stronger, not strain one side alone. Ross and Dem learned to lift with their knees, spread their feet apart to spare their back and be careful to remain upright. They were soon able to bear away heavy slings full of beans or baskets of produce that felt near impossible to lift let alone move when they started. They were pickers and did not have to wield knives and machetes like the men. They learned songs in many different languages, phonetically, from the women in the fields. They learned to wake early when they were still dead tired from the previous day. They learned to work through sore muscles until their muscles became hardened. They learned to extend their precious tube of toothpaste by brushing on alternate days with table salt patted on to their wetted brushes. They arrived, months earlier, as scrawny as beanpoles. Given access to proper food they remained slim but grew noticeably more tall, had a growth spurt brought on by the exercise and assured meals they received everyday. Ross and Dem came to like and trust all the women. They all doted on them and looked after them and taught them the ropes. They protected them and kept their secrets guarded. By June Dem, now in a position of being better fed, was starting to show a more feminine form and had the unhappy surprise of menstruating. The women rallied round. Helped her by finding other boy's clothes to wear that were loose and bought supplies, with money she gave them, Dem herself could not be seen purchasing. They were the mascots of the dormitory, adored by all and a nice chance for the workers to salve missing their own children by sharing time and friendship with them. Ross would often play his guitar when rain kept them indoors and he and Dem would sing. Dem's voice could be handwaved away as a boy who's voice had not broken but she only sang in the dorm out of caution. 'Dem' sounded short and genderless. There was no need to call her something else and the fiction that she was male was maintained by all outside the dorm. They all played cards, listened to music on the radio and spoke of their lives in the subtle exchange of gesture and key words that let those of different languages chat in earnest with each other. They were all paid weekly. The company kept their wages. The workers could draw on them weekly or let them compound. They would receive the remainder all in one lump sum at the end of the season. Ross and Dem left them to collect, only occasionally taking his or her weekly wage for ready cash. They bought extra boys clothes for them both and always slept clothed, no pajamas, so Dem was perpetually ready to meet the outside world as a boy. They bought toothpaste and not much else on the growers compound. The prices charged for items at the commissary were very expensive, a right scandal. They could dare to keep the prices high because there was no way to get to town except on the weekends. They were captive during the week to some degree. Even if that were not the case Ross and Dem were too tired by the end of their day to want to go anywhere during the week. It was hard, physical work. It had the advantage of being out in the fresh air, able to be surrounded by their friends and having each other to talk to and share the days in friendship. Ross and Dem would sit up on Dem's bed and talk before lights out and came to learn more about each other and like each other a little more each day. Garance, the woman who settled them in took personal interest in making sure Ross and Dem were looked after. Knowing that Dem was a girl made all the women even more protective of them both. Some of the men around here were ex prisoners and not pillars of virtue.

Garance, the woman who organized the women's dormitory, came to have deep affection for Ross and Dem as April turned to May and May to June. She took care not to be seen as too protective over them. The men she worried over the most on the premises might see wresting away 'her pets' as a challenge and she wanted them to be seen as boys who could look after themselves. It was a delicate dance. Ross' long hair helped Dem also look like a hippie boy but Garance cut her hair shorter by a few inches insure the illusion. Still the two young people were noticed among the women in the fields. Hard working, good looking lads surrounded by the women and guarded like cakes kept under a glass dome. The men, returning from their own toil in the fields or already back and relaxing, watching the women come back, would call out in French, in broken English, "Hey! Let go of your mama's apron! Come play cards! Drink with us! Put some hair on your chest!" Garance would make a derisive shooing motion with her hands as they filed past the men on their way back from the fields, yelling back tart, clever retorts that made everyone laugh, telling the men to mind their own business, all the while juggling and processing intricate web of information in her head as she did so with careful, appraising eyes. Monitoring who was flirting with whom among the men and women, which men were eyeing which girls in a lewd manner and keeping Ross and Dem well clear of the men as a whole. The 'little chickens' as Ross and Dem had come to be known were often teased by the men. Most were good natured and kind. A small few were derisive and menacing. Garance kept a light touch, not standing in the way of a budding romance, warning of trouble if she saw it and letting Ross and Dem far enough away from her to look independent but close enough to be safe. She ran the dorm like a military captain and took the responsibility over them all seriously. She marched her charges back to the safety of the dormitory at the end of each day from the fields and the men joshed and joked, took her scolding with good humor. Part of the ritual of returning from the fields and an enjoyable pastime.

Ross sat with Dem on her bunk in a bit of a slouch, back against the wall, muscles relaxing the kinks out after having a heavenly hot shower (another fortunate aspect of being with the women, the bathroom stall would have hidden Dem but the showers were communal. Dem's gender was assured to the other women soon after they arrived because of this.) Dem's damp hair and his own pooled at their shoulders where they sank into the other, side by side. It was Saturday night. They had eaten their fill of hot lamb stew and bread and there were always dud produce that the bosses didn't mind the workers eating, preferred it to throwing them out. Ross and Dem had a happy gorge on homely strawberries that would not fetch good prices and would be rejected by the buyers. There was also a bag of Carambar passed around and they enjoyed the caramel candy on top of their meal. They were tired but getting stronger everyday. They were clean and smelled of lavender from the bar of soap they shared. They had a nest egg. The money they earned was growing bit by bit and they would rent a room in a boarding house when the work was over and all the seasonal workers were turned out of the dorm. "Êtes vous fatigué? Are you tired?" asked Garance as she checked her lipstick in a small powder compact. The ladies were going out to socialize. There was informal dancing and time for a drink or two and a chat on Saturdays. She monitored this as well. Making sure all the women returned to the dorm having had fun with no bad happenings. "We will keep the bastards well clear if you want to join us..." she said adjusting the barrette in her hair. Her hair was piled up on her head, a little bit of glamour she allowed herself on Saturdays. Ross and Dem declined. They knew the women would look after them but also felt betwixt and between here. They were shy of letting the men get too close a look at Dem and were so tired from picking all day dancing at night seemed impossible. "No ... Merci, Garance," smiled Dem eyes closed. Ross nodded. "You go have fun." They waved goodbye to the women who were having their evening out. There were still some who remained, knitting or chatting quietly. A radio played the hit parade at a low volume. Ross and Dem enjoyed the tiredness of their limbs so relieved by the hot water of the shower. They enjoyed sitting side by side talking of this, talking of that.

Growing sleepier, they felt each other's chest rise and fall. They enjoyed the closeness, enjoyed being friends. The easy camaraderie between them, that they sensed from the first when Ross would talk with Dem through the fence of the Home, had not waned. Ordinarily, Ross bid Dem goodnight and climbed back down to his own bunk. Tonight they felt lazy enough that they lay down, still talking and even laughing gently in Dem's top bunk. They were fully dressed and chaste. They were good friends. They were drowsy and sleepy and liked being near. "It's not worth climbing down, Ross... We fit well enough here..." yawned Dem. Ross' face lay near the back of Dem's head. She felt him agree by nodding 'yes' next to her.

"Good night, Dem."

"Goodnight, Ross."

They fell asleep to the clicking of knitting needles and the murmured talk of many different lands. The radio was turned off and the room darkened bit by bit.

Those who had refrained from socializing were fast asleep when, shushing and giggling and just a little bit merry from drink, Garance brought her charges back in for the night. "Ooh la la! Ross changed his mind and has gone out anyway!" said a woman who passed his empty bunk.

"Quoi!?"

said Garance, alert from her relaxed state, surprised and frozen still in the task of removing the hair barette, winking its row of diamantes in what light there was. She rushed forward to see for herself. Ross' bed was empty. She peered at Dem's bunk. The other woman who pronounced Ross gone was too short to see high enough. "Ah! Mais non! They are both up here..." said Garance in a relieved whisper. "Ohhhhhhhh!" Struck by this cute tableau, they cooed in unison and then a quiet eruption of giggles rippled among them, craning on tiptoe to see Ross and Dem asleep in the top bunk. They were fast asleep and innocent looking with purring snores and nestled quite close together. A whispered appraisal of how absolutely darling they were in many different languages ensued. Garance beckoned them away and they began to ready themselves for sleep.

"Ah! Mes petits poulets!" sighed Garance. She raised and waggled the hand that held her hair barrette tucked under her thumb up like pronouncing a divine judgement upon them. "They will be proper sweethearts one day... One only has to look!"

This was readily agreed upon by the rest. A flurry of darting from the bathroom and showers. A second wave of whispered chat and dots of lamp light as they prepared for bed. The room darkened once more. A silent night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard Days Night, The Beatles 1964
> 
> It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog  
> It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log  
> But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do  
> Will make me feel alright  
> You know I work all day to get you money to buy you things  
> And it's worth it just to hear you say you're going to give me everything  
> So why on earth should I moan, 'cause when I get you alone  
> You know I feel ok  
> When I'm home everything seems to be right  
> When I'm home feeling you holding me tight, tight, yeah  
> It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog  
> It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log  
> But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do  
> Will make me feel alright, oww  
> So why on earth should I moan, 'cause when I get you alone  
> You know I feel ok  
> When I'm home everything seems to be right  
> When I'm home feeling you holding me tight, tight, yeah  
> Oh, it's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog  
> It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log  
> But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do  
> Will make me feel alright  
> You know I feel alright  
> You know I feel alright
> 
> Of course this song is about working hard and being revived by the person you love but it is also the song and the Beatles movie that are seat of Dem's exploration and determination to learn to play guitar, the start of her dreams of wanting to be a musician in the different 33&1/3 story, 'Little Wing', in the chapter 'You Can't Do That'. Also, Ross teases her with the beginning chord as they play 'Something', the night they first sleep together in 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road'
> 
> Carambar: These days, Carambar has exciting flavors like sour fruit and cotton candy but back in the day they were a traditional brown caramel taffy with a joke printed on the wrapper.
> 
> Quoi: what
> 
> Mes petits poulets: My little chickens
> 
> Still writing... :)


	24. Gimme That Wine (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tipsy children

One of the few times the entire staff got a day off was Bastille Day. It was a chance to relax and have fun. It was also one of the few times most all the workers left the compound and went into town for their fun. The bus that ferried workers from the docks and two tractors pulling empty hay wagons were used to bring the workers into town and bring them back. There was a day's grace, no work the next day, for the management knew hungover workers were accident prone and they would not get decent work out of even the women after a knees up in town for Bastille Day. It had been talked of by all, in breathless excitement, for a week. There would be a carnival, fireworks and wine and beer would flow like water as people enjoyed themselves and the cafes tried to best each other, courting business from the revelers in huge, outdoor spaces, strung with banners, little flags and strands of lights to carouse into the night. There would be a day to recover too. It was like having three Sundays in a week! Ross and Dem were excited to go to the carnival. A chance to be carefree and ride on the rides, eat delicious things and watch the fireworks. They made sure to have plenty of pocket money and were looked upon fondly as the day grew near, sweet to see two kids excited for a good time. In truth, the grown ups were as giddy. They had it good working here, the bosses were fair and it was run with the idea that even ex cons, illegal immigrants and the odd underage worker should be looked after properly. It was hard, relentless work, though. Injuries did occur, the work was tiring and one's body would, at some point, not be able to meet the work anymore. Having days off, back to back, was a happy occurrence for all.

Ross and Dem rode in one of the wagons with the women and felt a bit French themselves for they all, with their various accents, gleefully sang La Marseillaise at the top of their lungs,

Allons enfants de la Patrie  
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!  
Contre nous de la tyrannie  
L’étendard sanglant est levé  
L’étendard sanglant est levé  
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes  
Mugir ces féroces soldats?  
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras  
Égorger nos fils, nos compagnes!

Aux armes, citoyens  
Formez vos bataillons  
Marchons, marchons!  
Qu’un sang impur  
Abreuve nos sillons!

They all sang with confidence because the management left a pile of little laminated cards, similar to devotional cards for saints, with the words on one side and a stirring painting of the mob storming the Bastille on the other out by the coffee urn that morning. Ross lay on his back in the wagon with his arms up, one knee hitched up, hair spread about underneath his head, singing with gusto and looking as if he was trying to decipher washing instructions on a label and Dem sat, cross legged, next to him, holding hers at her lap like a choir boy. Certain aspects of the Home did not leave her. They bumped and travelled along until they reached the town, festooned with bunting strung round and frenetic children in every possible place, already climbing on things and running around. Friends walking along chatting, men already getting card games in with an early drink. "Which color do you want, Dem!?" Ross began the morning securing the prettiest lollipops in the candy stand. Huge all day suckers, with swirls of color spiraled within gleaming, glossy, white candy swirls on a stout wooden stick and every color combination imaginable in a veritable fortress of sugar, a sight to dazzle one eyes and make your mouth water. "Rainbow!" said Dem, dancing about in place in the glorious spectacle of the candy stand. "Ha! You dance about like a flea, my boy!" Said the confectioner, in French, to Dem leaning forward in a white apron and a mob cap like a 18th century woman would wear but over a housedress that was quite modern with scrambled, sketchy red roses and green leaves all over it. Ross and Dem smiled to receive them with a happy, "Merci!" Ross handed his payment to the cheerful sweets seller and they began eating them at once, clutching them for hours as they ran to the carnival and spent all day riding the rides while holding lollipops the size of ping pong paddles, tasting them incessantly and having a carefree day that was a genuinely new experience for Dem and a shadow of happy memory for Ross who remembered having happy days at a fun fair running around with friends before Ross started to go feral and his mates started getting their thrills with more risk involved.

Jean-Lambert, an ex convict that worked in the growers compound watched them with interest. Garance's little English chicks, romping about without a care, licking lollies the size of their head and, cousins...? Pierre, another picker as hardened a criminal as Jean-Lambert, saw him watching the two kids. "I'd give 'em something to suck on..." This brought a wicked sort of laughter. "They are pridey morsels! The cat's away!" Jean-Lambert gestured at Garance, some yards away, walking arm in arm with a friend and as lighthearted as anyone today. "If they get liquored up we might have more fun today than I thought!" Pierre laughed. "Vive la France!" Jean-Lambert slapped his thigh laughing for those around them cheered out of patriotism.

They rode the Helter Skelter and the swings. They rode la chenille, the wooden caterpillar on its curved and looped track. They rode the merry go round three times and each caught a brass ring at the curve in the ceiling by the operator. The lollipops, which seemed indestructible, started to grow smaller and Ross and Dem were as happy as could be. They were free. They had all the fun they wanted and could make their own decisions, they had money of their own to spend and a dear friend to share these triumphs, who felt as happy as they did with a halo of victory shining over them. They made it to Marseilles, had secured a job and would have enough to rent a room to wait out the cold weather and return for the new season. They proved themselves good workers and Garance promised that they would guard Dem's identity should they want to return. Everything was going their way. Their way. Ross and Dem had no stirrings of romance. They were firm friends. Pals. They were a team and together the future seemed very bright. The good cheer among everyone, their friends from work, the villagers who were so welcoming, the calliope music mixed with the old men singing with their accordions, carnival barkers calling out their patter to entice people to try their luck in games of skill. Smiles and goodwill. Good times. Dem won a ceramic cat by aiming well at the beanbag toss and Ross won a cowboy hat made out of black felt at the shooting gallery. He wore it with pride and all who came across them laughed indulgently. They were tall, skinny boys in jeans one dark haired "rogue" in a cowboy hat and tee shirt that was slightly too small, his sidekick a redhead clutching a ceramic cat in a trilby hat and a man's button shirt, making him look even younger for it was slightly too big. "Ses Blueberry!" someone called out. Not familiar with the comic book, Ross just smiled. It sounded like a compliment. Dem grinned, scrunching her eyes as she did so and they bent their heads together laughing. Jean-Lambert stamped out his cigarette. "Now they're just teasing me!" He gestured to the little chickens looking provocative in a toy cowboy hat and the other one holding a cat statue. Pierre laughed like a drain. "We'll get them at the card table, if they get drunk enough the cowboy will be our meal and the redhead will be our after dinner mint!"

Ross and Dem each had a plate of dinner at a cafe, groaning with a thick fried sausage that was slicked and sticky with darkened juices from the skillet and a mass of sliced potatoes, roasted in duck fat and gleaming like golden coins, chopped parsley scattered over the lot of it like confetti. They had water to drink and as they tucked in eating Dem looked around the cafe, at all the old men drinking wine with their meals and said, wistfully, "I wish I was a man! I'd drink port and claret til my eyes popped out!" Ross put down his fork. Dem could say things that were not funny in themselves but the _way_ she said them made them funny indeed. "Hahahahaha!" They both laughed and started to eat. The men sitting around them turned to look at to owner in his striped apron and rolled up shirt sleeves. They gestured and mimicked drinking from glasses while pointing at Ross and Dem's table. They were saying, 'Oh, go on! It's a holiday!' 'Let the boys have a taste!' 'A bit of wine won't hurt them!' and enjoying the feeling of conspiracy in this effort. The proprietor, a jolly fellow who liked to see hungry boys enjoying their food, put a finger to his lips and slipped them both a tiny, picardie tumbler of red wine. "The only drink to wash that down, boys! I won't tell if you won't!" Ross and Dem grinned, wide eyed, and nodded happily. "Merci!" they said excitedly. "Wine! Like proper grown ups!" whispered Dem. "Yes!" whispered Ross. "Vive la France!" he cried merrily and all in the cafe joined their toast and waited to see how the youngsters would find their first taste of wine. Ross and Dem grinned once more and took a sip. Their eyes widened happily and the old men in the cafe sighed, "Ahhh..." "To be young again!" said one. "Mais oui!" said the cheerful owner. "When all of life was new, eh?" "Ahhh!", "Oui, oui!" The men were sentimental. Life before the disappointments and humdrum reared their heads, when life seemed full of endless possibilities and the horizon line had not shrunk from, family, from work, from war, let the youth enjoy themselves... Ross and Dem could see what the owner meant. The rich sausage and the potatoes, so fragrant with garlic, black pepper and duck fat and the sprightly taste of the parsley was elevated by a drink that was tart and sweet and had a half remembered taste of grapes in its raisin like darkness. They clinked their glasses and downed the rest of the wine to applause. The owner smiled. The boys liked their wine and he had made proper Frenchmen of them this Bastille Day. They were young for it but a little taste could not hurt...

Ross and Dem walked arm in arm like other French boys and girls they saw in the street, looking to all the world, like two boys having a banger of a Bastille Day, one clutching a cat from the carnival and the other resplendent in a felt cowboy hat so cheap the sun shone through the felt. Jean-Lambert shared a shifty look with Pierre. They could secret their true intent by using the other men as a front. Wouldn't all the guys want to see if Garance's chickens could hold their liquor? They sun was going down, the band was tuning up for dancing and the tents where card games were in progress were starting to light the fairy lights strung round their perimeters. "Here! You! Ross et Dem!" Ross and Dem recognized two men from the compound and waved. "Come with us to that tent. We need a fair pair of eyes! Pierre is an arch cheater!" Pierre slapped the back of Jean-Lambert's head. "I never cheat! You're just bad at cards, is all!" Other men, from the compound, from the village saw the antics and started to laugh as Pierre and Jean-Lambert hoped. "Yes!" said another man watching from the entrance of the tent. "Ross and Dem are good boys! Straight as a die! They will smoke out cheaters, for certain!" Flattered to be seen as honorable, high on sugar and rich food, with the taste of wine still fresh on their tongue. Ross and Dem nodded and went into the drinks tent where many dice and card games were in progress and there were many from the compound in a position to see what Pierre and Jean-Lambert intended for them to see. Ross and Dem getting falling down drunk and be seen as too silly and drunk to be believed later if they tried to tell others that Pierre and Jean-Lambert hurt them.

They sat at a table for five, leaving one chair free. Ross and Dem sat next to each other with an empty chair inbetween. Pierre and Jean-Lambert sat facing each other. The onlookers laughed when Dem sat her ceramic cat on the table as if it was a fifth participant. They made a show of a high stakes game that was tense and was won by Pierre, who celebrated his win in cartoonish pride, coaxing more spectators to laugh and enjoy some free entertainment. Jean-Lambert sniffed the air. Turned to Dem in surprise. The little chicken had already had a nip of something! Jean-Lambert slapped his knee and called out broadly to the men in the tent. "Sacre bleu! Dem's drunk!" Dem looked offended. "I am not! I just had a little glass of wine!" The men in the tent cheered and whistled. Someone near said "Don't tell Garance!" And everyone laughed. "Ross and Dem are young men after all!" "Why shouldn't they have a drink!" said Pierre and the men nodded agreement. "They are good boys." "A little drink would not hurt them." "Garance is too strict!" agreed the men around them, from the village and the compound. Pierre seeing the window of opportunity said. "They are strapping young men! Which will go down first?" Ross and Dem did not understand what he meant. "Play cards with Jean-Lambert. If you win, he takes a drink. If you lose you and Dem have to drink." said Pierre. "Yes! Play with me! Don't play with that rotten cheater Pierre!" Pierre bapped Jean-Lambert in the back of the head again and the laughter rolled on. Ross looked at Dem and Dem shrugged. Dem was excited to be seen as a boy and Ross liked the attention of all these men. They had been quite secreted away. Being with the men today would be like a calling card. Ross and Dem would retreat back to the safety of the women's dorm having made the men believe they were boys who were friendly and weren't sissies. And they both felt wine tasted nice... "Why not?! I have a lucky cat!" said Dem pointing to the cat statue on the table. The tent roared with laughter. Ross held his cards with a cowboy hat on his head next to a red headed boy in a man's trilby playing against a grown roughneck in a drinking game as the band played in the distance and the sun was going down. High entertainment. The cat worked in their favor two times but after that the luck did not hold. Ross lost hand after hand and Dem finally laid her head on the table in a dreamy, sweet fog of drunkenness as Ross strained to stop making the clubs and diamonds and heart and spades stop crawling about his cards like ants. They were quickly undone by drink and could not see all the onlookers joyous laughing and heroic cheers for what they were. They'd been taken in, not realizing the humor in them getting drunk at their expense was the point of this exercise. The men knew they would not be able to keep up and the fun to be had was watching them get hammered because it was inevitable. They were positioned to lose and Ross and Dem thought the taste of the wine was delicious, it went down far too easily. Jean-Lambert smiled. Pierre smiled. 'Chickens for dinner...' they thought.

The band had struck up and Garance was scanning the crowd for Ross and Dem as one of the women ran towards her. "Garance! Jean-Lambert has gotten Ross and Dem into a card game! He's gotten them drunk!" Garance gasped. The worst of the lot and she was not paying any mind, she thought they were safe at the carnival rides. "Mon dieu!" She ran, Garance pulled off her high heels and ran barefoot to the tent with a look on her face that would scare the devil. People stopped to stare at this woman who looked like Brigitte Bardot's angry maiden aunt running to one of the gaming tents behind another woman leading the way, running like the devil was chasing her. A crowd followed to see the commotion. She stopped at the entrance, put her shoes back on and wiggled herself into better form for her girdle had shifted as she ran. Someone wolf whistled as she tucked a stray lock of her blonde hair back up and sashayed into the tent in her heels and shapely dress like an angry film star. She came upon Dem laying her head on the table, hat askew over a swirl of red hair, next to a ceramic cat and Ross sat back groggily in his chair trying to keep hold of a hand of cards. With a cowboy hat on his head? There were two wine carafes empty and one half full. It was clear the villain intended to pour wine down their throats until Ross and Dem were helpless. "What the Hell is going on!" demanded Garance. Ross blinked up and smiled at Garance. He was drunk enough that any fear or idea that he could be in trouble could not trouble his brain. "Oh! Garance!" chuckled Ross in a good natured, slurry, delirium. "We are playing cards, but my luck is not very good!" She glowered at Jean-Lambert. "Non! You were taken in by this scoundrel who plays with kids cause he's too chicken to play like a real man!" Jean-Lambert threw his cards face down on the table as everyone, man, woman, to a person went, "Ooooooooh!" Garance lifted her chin "You play with children like a coward!" He stood, "Oh? I'd like to see you play with your high and mighty mouth!" He spread his hands at his sides, as if he was proving himself unarmed before a fight. He narrowed his eyes. "I'll clean your clock and put the right look in your eyes afterwards! You'll be screaming 'Jean-Lambert'!" The women gasped and then the tent was silent. Garance turned to a waiter, napkin over his arm, holding a pitcher of water and watching this exchange with his mouth agape. "S'il vous plaît, bring us a fresh pack of cards!" snapped Garance. The men started beating on the tables with the flat of their hands like war drums. Whistling began. Other men rushed to the bar to get drinks and lay bets. The women murmured a steady stream, "You show the brute!' 'Garance will stomp him!' 'Show that blackguard what a woman can do!' Garance sat between Ross, blinking at her drunkenly and Dem who was still passed out. Pierre saw their plan had disintegrated. There was no entertainment to be had with the little chickens now. Jean-Lambert was too angry to consider things that way. A bigger fish had presented itself. "What do I get?" asked Jean-Lambert. "Either way you keep clear of Ross and Dem from now on." said Garance in an even tempered voice. She had the waiter open the pack and then wowed the spectators by shuffling the cards as she learned to do as a croupier in Monaco. The deck of cards danced, collapsed and expanded like a slight of hand magician playing with a Slinky spring or an accordion. Jean-Lambert scowled. Her flashy tricks were irritating and made him want to beat her that much more. Another brace of men ran to the bar to lay bets. They fell about forward, like the Keystone Cops, desperate to lay bets. This woman knew what she was doing. Garance slapped the cards down on the table, reached down the front of her dress, pulled an absurd amount of money out of her bra and laid it on the table. He looked at her and her drunk little chickens. He thought about how she swaned around the compound pretending herself superior and how obnoxious Garance was. He shook his head. "That's chump change! We shall play for the money but if I win it you have to sit on my lap, in front of everyone!" Ross was not so drunk that his mouth didn't drop open like the rest of the workers. Garance would debase herself by sitting on Jean-Lambert's lap, in front of everyone, if she lost! Unthinkable! Garance flicked a lacquered fingernail at her temple to push an errant lock of hair back, looked around the tent at the intense interest of the villagers, the horrified look of insult on her behalf from her good friends. She looked to little Dem laying her head on the table next to an arcade prize cat with a sleepy, dreamy smile. Ross looking at Dem with concern for her having drunk too much and looking at Garance with guilt and a concern for her dignity. That charmed her. Even sozzled by these ne'er do wells the boy was good hearted and caring. She looked at Jean-Lambert, conceited, no good and most likely had bad intent in getting the young people drunk. He was definitely one of the men she most distrusted. She raised her right hand as if laying an oath. No one failed to see the gleam of the little diamond in one of her rings and the gleam in her eye, just as sharp, as she stared Jean-Lambert down. One could hear a pin drop on the unvarnished wooden slats of the temporary floor of the tent in the charged atmosphere as she said,

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme That Wine, Jon Hendricks 1965
> 
> My wife got tired a' me runnin 'round, so she tried to keep me home-  
> Well, she broke my nose and hid my clothes, but I continued to roam.  
> Then she finally hit my weak spot - threatened to throw my bottle out  
> Well, from the basement to the rooftop, everybody could hear me shout... Gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> 'Cause I can't cut loose without my juice.  
> Gotta have hot lucy when I go walkin' y'know.  
> Well, one day while crossin the avenue, a big car knocked me down.  
> While I was stretched out tyin' up traffic and crowds came from blocks  
> Around  
> Now the po-lice were searchin my pockets, before they sent me to the  
> Funeral parlor,  
> But when one o' those cops took my bottle, Jack, I jumped straight up  
> And commenced to hollar gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> 'Cause I can't get well without Muskatel  
> I only drink for medicinal purposes anyway  
> Well, now, one real dark and dreary night as I was staggerin' home t'  
> Bed,  
> Well, a bandit jumped from the shadows and put a blackjack 'side my  
> Head.  
> That cat took my watch, my ring, my money, And I didn't make a sound,  
> But when he reached 'n got my bottle, you could hear me for blocks  
> Around gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> Beat m' head outta shape, but leave my grape.  
> Watch, ring and money ain't nothin' but don mess with my wine, Jim.  
> Well one day my house caught fire while I was layin' down sleepin' off a  
> Nap  
> An' when I woke up everything was burnin' with a pop an' a crackle an' a  
> Snap.  
> Now the fireman chopped up my TV set and tore my apartment apart,  
> But when he raised his axe to my bottle, I screamed with all my heart gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> So I can drink one toast before I roast.  
> No sense goin' out half baked, Might as well be Alll tore up  
> You can take all those Hollywood glamor girls- Lana Turner, Rita  
> Hayworth,  
> Bridget Bardot, n' Lucille Ball,  
> And all them chicks 'n line 'em upside the wall  
> Put a GIGANTIC jug beside 'em, n' tell me to take my choice.  
> Well, there'd be no doubt which one I chose, the minute I raised my  
> Voice. Gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> Well those chicks look fine, but I love my wine.  
> Now some folks like money, some like to dance and dine,  
> But I'll be happy If you give me that wine
> 
> A knees up: a party, a good time
> 
> Helter Skelter: a tower with a slide around the outside
> 
> La chenille: like a roller coaster but nearer to the ground
> 
> Blueberry: a western, cowboy comic by Charlier&Giraud(Mœbius) begun in 1965
> 
> Like the Keystone Cops: silent movie police comedies featuring cops that were bumbling and clumsy


	25. Gimme That Wine(Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tipsy children

Garance knew what she was about, she played cards well. She had worked in casinos of a high, rarified standard, in multiple countries, in a more distant era of her life. She had no qualms over playing against Jean-Lambert or any other man. They decided on a game of Ruff, played with thirty-two cards, each of the players dealt five, and play being as at whist except that the ace was the lowest card. The hazard and lure of the game lay in the fact that before playing either player could discard and take up from the pack as many new cards as one chose and do this as many times as one chose, at the discretion of the nondealer. Garance knew the game inside and out. She never lost much at it, but in Jean-Lambert she had met her match. He must have played it all his life and in his sleep. And he had astonishing luck tonight. Whenever Garance assembled a good hand Jean-Lambert had better. Time after time she thought she was safe and time after time the freak draw beat her. Her luck was out, stayed out and Jean-Lambert's determination to see Garance brought low seemed destined to be rewarded. "Admit it!" crowed Jean-Lambert. "You are beat! Haha! Saddle up bebé!" Garance looked over her hand of cards. Calm. "Non! I am not satisfied to leave the game as it stands. We play on!" Jean-Lambert chuckled. The pile of money rose and fell like a tug of war but the pile was now secured by him. "With what? Play on with what?" Garance pushed back from the table and stood, erect. She looked down her nose at Jean-Lambert and gestured with her hands, presented herself like a model who stood by a car in an advertisement or a bathing beauty. It could not be said that Garance was a raving beauty, in a traditional sense. There was a masculine squareness in the shape of her face. She was a mature woman, not a dewy youth. There was a hardness to her features. She was, clearly, not a natural blonde. The modest diamond on her finger was the only stone of value she possessed. But her poise, her tall elegance, the care she took over her appearance, the flash of a jewel or a rhinestone catching light around her, gave her unassailable glamour. Her wise, warm personality, her reputation for taking nothing less than respect elevated Garance in the eyes of all. She was glamour incarnate for she was Garance. She jutted one hip and placed her hand, akimbo, upon it. A quick flick of her head, her bust accentuated by her posture, a challenge and the casual insouciance of her painted lips saying,

"Assets I can realize!"

No one in the tent misunderstood her. The women gasped and whispered among themselves. The men whistled and banged on the table once more. They tittered with awe and envy. How many wistful eyes trailed after this woman? How many knew she considered herself out of reach and the men here about out of her league? A bizarre mixture of anticipation, horror and fascination bubbled through the tent. The men in the tent were raised to the highest excitement. Garance set the stakes to their highest height. Not only sitting on Jean-Lambert's lap, witnessed by all, but sleeping with him afterwards. It was irresistible. It was impossible to turn aside. Impossible to say 'non'. Jean-Lambert had already mouthed off a brag that he would take her when he challenged her. He would be known in perpetuity as the man who was too afraid to try his luck if he declined on top of denying himself the opportunity of being able to wipe that superior look off her face behind closed doors in victory, pleasure and total control. Every man in the room strained to hear Jean-Lambert's answer. His fingers were sweaty. Jean-Lambert would have preferred quitting and taking his original prize. Now she had goaded him anew. He would never save face among every man in the town and the growers compound if he declined her and stopped the game. Even if he did declare victory now, and she sat on his lap, it would be him who would be seen as the fool. To be content with that when he could have had her in truth would have him seen as a fool by all.

"I accept!"

Pandemonium erupted. Garance sat back down in her regal, icy manner. She glowed with glamour and poise. If she was worried or nervous it was undetectable. New bets were laid, a churn of men going to the bar, securing their drinks and wagers, all eager to take their places once more and watch to see who would prevail. The proprietor himself brought a fresh pack of cards to resume in fairness and fair play. A lady's honor was the highest, high stakes he had ever hosted in all the years he'd worked. A stony silence fell over the women. Garance's wager had placed them all in jeopardy. Their place within the grower's compound would be impossible if she lost. If Garance could offer her the favor of her body in a card game and Jean-Lambert won, none of the women could feel secure in their place in the compound anymore. If Garance lost her moral authority in such a crass manner no other woman was secure. Garance held the entire dormitory in her hands with this bet.

"Propose." said Jean-Lambert.

"How many?" Garance still played with a regal air, played as if her position was not as dire as it was.

"One." Jean-Lambert patted his crotch as he said it. It was clear he felt victory in his grasp.

Garance took an elegant sip of water and placed the glass to her left, though she drank using her right hand."I'll take the book." She tilted her chin up and Jean-Lambert snickered.

Ross, watching from his seat, felt sick. From drinking too much, from seeing Garance about to lose and have to submit to Jean-Lambert's crass insult. To see her have to submit to Jean-Lambert, in the worst way, because he and Dem were too puffed with the pride of believing they could be peers with the men made him feel terrible. He and Dem saw little harm in trying to act like the men. He could see now why Garance was so strict and protective of them. You don't know what you don't know. Dem was still asleep, her nose refracted through Garance's water glass, stretched into strangeness through the water beneath the waxy red smudge of Garance's lipstick. Dem maintained sweet little smile as she slept on in blissful ignorance of the high stakes card game being played right under her very nose. They imagined themselves equal to adults and clever and now put Garance's honor in peril. Ross felt the tension in the room and looked on at the table and their tense game, straining to stay awake himself and stricken with misery.

Garance threw away all five cards but then it seemed that she forgot Jean-Lambert had to draw first, for she stretched out her right hand to draw at the same time. Their hands somehow got mixed up with each other, and instead of drawing more cards Garance's hand had caught Jean-Lambert's wrist. Jean-Lambert gave a grunt as Garance slowly turned his hand up. In the palm of his hand was the king of trumps. There was a moment's silence. Garance said in a level, smooth, damning voice, "I wonder if you will explain how you came to have a card in your hand before you drew one from the pack." Jean-Lambert looked as if he was going to faint. "Nonsense! I had already drawn the card when you caught it! Pierre! You saw me draw it, oui?!" But Pierre refused to back him. Often being made to act the goat, letting Jean-Lambert tell anyone who would listen that Pierre cheated at cards, to throw his lot with him now, when Jean-Lambert was caught red handed in front of everyone was an affront that stuck in his craw. In the space of that brief silence the onlookers began a howl of indignation. "Oh no he did not!" "He did not draw that card!" "She caught him dead to rights!" "Mon dieu! What a scandal!" "He was cheating!" The proprietor came forward. He had to push through the people for no one wanted to step aside and risk losing sight of the unfurling drama. Garance turned to look at the proprietor as he approached the table and witnessed her grasp of Jean-Lambert's wrist. "Monsieur!" Garance might have been a queen on her throne. "I demand that Jean-Lambert be searched! What other tricks has he got in him?!" The owner nodded and called forward the waiter. "Stand up, you!" said the owner. Jean-Lambert lost the brash confidence he'd shown earlier. Garance caught him and held his wrist firm so everyone could see he was caught. He stood with an air of resignation. "Hold him fast," said the owner to the waiter. The waiter stood behind Jean-Lambert and firmly held him by the shoulders as the owner unbuttoned Jean-Lambert's shirt and proceeded to check his clothes and pockets. The onlookers twittered and gasped as the owner produced two playing cards in each sleeve. "Look at him! Cards!" "Ooh la la! He's lousy with cards!" "He's been cheating the whole time!" The realization that Jean-Lambert had extra cards secreted on his person threw not only his winnings today in suspicion but every previous game in dispute as well. There was a fresh outbreak of yelling and scandalized chatter. Angry men who lost to Jean-Lambert at cards began to shout. The owner appealed for cooler heads. The women were relieved that Garance had trapped Jean-Lambert with intention rather than offering herself in a fit of pique or some quirk of a gambler's stubbornness.

Ross stared in disbelief. He had been foolish for trying to be equal to the men but he had no idea Jean-Lambert offered to play, knowing he would cheat to get them drunk on purpose! Alone in the growing din of yelling, accusation and complaint, Garance sat serene. Garance took a sip of water and took a sidelong glance at Ross. The tiny diamond in her ring winked at him and so did she with a kind, maternal smile. She had to reach to retrieve it. Ross realised she set the water glass to her left, out of her way, on purpose, to catch Jean-Lambert cheating by grabbing his wrist with her dominant hand as he feigned drawing a card. Garance was a very clever woman. She stood and her voice cut through the confusion of the room. "Ladies! The night is over! We shall return to the dormitory!" They applauded as Garance corrected Dem's hat so it stayed on her head, knelt forward, tenderly lifted Dem's arm over her neck and woke her enough to walk her out tut tutting, for all the men around to hear, at what a mischief young boys like Dem could fall in to and chiding her as if Dem was male. "Ross!" Garance's voice was sharp. The men in the room were given the brief amusement at imagining the dressing down the two boys would receive from her when they were sober. Ross stood, a bit wobbly. "Oui, madame!" said Ross, using French rather than English with a great deal of respect Garance for all he was drunk and wearing a cowboy hat. Garance was stern of voice but Ross saw a hint of mirth in her eyes."Bring the cat." Ross picked up the cat statue Dem won at the beanbag toss carefully and followed the women out. Garance transferred Dem to two other women and told them she would catch them up as they returned to the tractors.

She went back into the tent, still humming with indignant talk as winnings were put into dispute and the spectacle Jean-Lambert's cheating being exposed brought on angry arguments while the proprietor still begged for calmer heads to prevail. She strode up to Jean-Lambert still held in his place by the waiter and gave him a ringing slap across the face that the men about the place approved of. "Serves him right!" "That's what the blackguard deserves!" She retrieved her money from the table, stacked it on the sides of the bills in her hands to tidy them. She folded the money in half and placed it back in her bra, over her heart. Garance turned to walk back out but stopped by the door. She held the edge of the tent flap with her diamond catching the light and narrowed her eyes in a teasing, triumph, letting her lips spread into a dazzling smile over her shoulder. "Good evening, gentlemen." She turned and went out with a sway in her hips that did not go unnoticed. Applause, whistling and many compliments followed her. Jean-Lambert knew he would not leave the tent without a black eye. Once Garance left, the melee ensued. 

Ross and Dem were groggy but awake. They crawled on to the hay wagon and the ceramic cat sat on Garance's lap to insure that it not get broken. Ross and Dem were roundly scolded by the women and both turned to Garance in a wobbly haziness to hear her pronounce her take on their first foray into drink. She kept her hand on the cat, that it not move and flapped her right hand at the sky above her head. "Ooh la la! Why should I punish you when you've already punished yourselves? It will be you with the sore head in the morning!" The women laughed. Ross and Dem found it easier to lay on their backs as the wagon lurched and rattled. They bumped and travelled along and could see the fireworks that were being let off in the town. The women oohed and awed at the bright colors and loud bangs, still loud even as they got closer to the growers compound. Inspired by the rousing display, La Marseillaise was taken up once more. It was sung with cheer as they made their way back to the dormitory.

Allons enfants de la Patrie  
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!  
Contre nous de la tyrannie  
L’étendard sanglant est levé  
L’étendard sanglant est levé  
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes  
Mugir ces féroces soldats?  
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bra

Aux armes, citoyens  
Formez vos bataillons  
Marchons, marchons!  
Qu’un sang impur  
Abreuve nos sillons!

The sparkle and dazzle of gold and red, of blue and purple sparks that fell like stars bursting in joy were becoming farther away. The little bus and one tractor made their journey home for the second tractor would remain in the village to bring overnight stragglers back the next day. Ross and Dem were helped in and laid upon Ross' bottom bunk to sleep off the Bastille Day festivities and the high drama of the card game. In the morning, that much worse for drink, they found a chair had been pulled over from another part of the room to the right of Ross' bunk. On the seat of the chair Garance had left two glasses of water and a packet of aspirins next to a ceramic cat with a felt cowboy hat balanced on top of it. They were grateful. 

"It's a good thing you remember that story, Ross!" said Dem "I remember the carnival, the fireworks and getting told off but not much else!" They all laughed. They all enjoyed rich tasting port wine accompanied with nuts, chocolate and even biscuits. It was late now and the Poldarks had put down quite a bit of port as they explained how they met. It was a delicate exercise in tact to slow them down, made harder by the fact that their stories were so enchanting and interesting, Hugh, his uncle and the Enyses had to struggle to pull themselves back into the present to pay mind to the rate of Ross and Dem's consumption. Dwight wondered if it was an outgrowth of Ross' bereavement, drinking too much. Hugh assumed it was. Lord Falmouth discreetly removed the bottle alarmed at how much they all had gotten through. One mustn't knock back port as if it was soda water. Caroline saw this uncharacteristic tippling a bit more clearly than the others. Ross and Dem were sad over the death of Ross' father, to be sure. It was not that alone. They had not gotten to the point in the story in which they met the person who taught them art. Caroline surmised another story barred the way. Caroline suspected that the Poldarks, perhaps even subconsciously, were self medicating in the nervousness over having to explain to the others why they left Marseilles and strove for the anonymity to be had in Paris. Caroline whispered to Dwight. He seemed to readily agree to her suggestion. "Lord Falmouth?" Caroline began. "Yes?" He was looking at how drained the Poldarks seemed and brought his attention back to her. "We've had the benefit of your hospitality for many days. Would you and Hugh and the Poldarks dine with us tomorrow? I'm sure Ross and Dem could regale us with tales until morning, but they need their sleep. It's clear they have packed a lot of living in their time together," They all smiled fondly at each other. "We would love to host you all before we go back to England." It was agreed to. "Ross? Dem?" asked Caroline. They looked at her expectantly, they seemed tipsy as well as nervous. "Will you stay the night with us tomorrow night? We will bring you back the next morning." They looked at her. Ross nodded 'yes' and felt out by his knee with his fingers to hold Demelza's hand and give it a squeeze. Dem nodded and with her free hand started to brush the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes away with her hand. The Poldarks understood that Caroline wanted them to stay with her after they confessed the reason for their flight from Marseilles to Lord Falmouth, Hugh and Dwight. She was offering to be with them, support them and help them feel better. It was a tender gift. "Yes, Caroline," said Ross quietly. "Thank you, We would like that..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme That Wine, Jon Hendricks 1965
> 
> My wife got tired a' me runnin 'round, so she tried to keep me home-  
> Well, she broke my nose and hid my clothes, but I continued to roam.  
> Then she finally hit my weak spot - threatened to throw my bottle out  
> Well, from the basement to the rooftop, everybody could hear me shout gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> 'Cause I can't cut loose without my juice.  
> Gotta have hot lucy when I go walkin' y'know.  
> Well, one day while crossin the avenue, a big car knocked me down.  
> While I was stretched out tyin' up traffic and crowds came from blocks  
> Around  
> Now the po-lice were searchin my pockets, before they sent me to the  
> Funeral parlor,  
> But when one o' those cops took my bottle, Jack, I jumped straight up  
> And commenced to hollar gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> 'Cause I can't get well without Muskatel  
> I only drink for medicinal purposes anyway  
> Well, now, one real dark and dreary night as I was staggerin' home t'  
> Bed,  
> Well, a bandit jumped from the shadows and put a blackjack 'side my  
> Head.  
> That cat took my watch, my ring, my money, And I didn't make a sound,  
> But when he reached 'n got my bottle, you could hear me for blocks  
> Around gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> Beat m' head outta shape, but leave my grape.  
> Watch, ring and money ain't nothin' but don mess with my wine, JIm.  
> Well one day my house caught fire while I was layin' down sleepin' off a  
> Nap  
> An' when I woke up everything was burnin' with a pop an' a crackle an' a  
> Snap.  
> Now the fireman chopped up my TV set and tore my apartment apart,  
> But when he raised his axe to my bottle, I screamed with all my heart gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> So I can drink one toast before I roast.  
> No sense goin' out half baked, Might as well be Alll tore up  
> You can take all those Hollywood glamor girls- Lana Turner, Rita  
> Hayworth,  
> Bridget Bardot, n' Lucille Ball,  
> And all them chicks 'n line 'em upside the wall  
> Put a GIGANTIC jug beside 'em, n' tell me to take my choice.  
> Well, there'd be no doubt which one I chose, the minute I raised my  
> Voice. Gimme that wine, oh gimme that wine  
> Well those chicks look fine, but I love my wine.  
> Now some folks like money, some like to dance and dine,  
> But I'll be happy If you give me that wine
> 
> Hold him fast: meaning 'don't let go', not haste
> 
> 33&1/3 drinking game:  
> Tipsy: take a drink for a)"fuck/fucking" double shot for "motherfucker" b)"Judas"
> 
> Merry: take a drink for a) "had a think" b) "surreptitious" c) any time Blue/Malcolm says "Christ", double shot for "Jesus Fucking Christ"
> 
> Drunk: take a drink for a) "sparkled/sparkling" b) "toward/towards" c) any antiquated/weird word you had to look up for its meaning
> 
> Plastered: take a drink for a) any scene with characters in bed, must have a shot for each character in the bed, including children, double shot for any bed scene in "New Career" b)"giggled/giggling""laughed/laughing"
> 
> Alcohol poisoning: take a drink for: a) any description of eyes b) all Paynterese, double shot for "fitty"
> 
> The above is meant as a joke, please do not drink like this, it is injurious to health.
> 
> Still writing... :)


	26. Iron Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge served cold

Another scrumptious cassata cake was procured. A delicious meal of veal parmesan, spaghetti swathed in fragrant herb filled tomato sauce, crusty bread, red wine and fresh salad leaves in a sprightly vinaigrette to keep the richness of the meat from sitting too heavy and served en famille, not in courses, was just a couple of hours away. Enough time for a proper visit. Lord Falmouth was charmed by the Enyses' holiday home, quaint and well arranged with a well trained staff for all that it was a rental. He was charmed by the clear evidence that Hugh, Dwight and Caroline had become firm, trusted and loving friends to the Poldarks. He was charmed to feel that he too had their friendship assured. The young couple were quite at home in the Enyses' villa and the time they spent before the meal in the afternoon was so enjoyable. Lord Falmouth declined to sit on the floor, but he sat in one of the new fangled leather armchairs that were actually quite comfortable when one sat down in them, and watched with an indulgent happiness his nephew and his friends discussing art and passing books around in a fast moving conversation of opinion and aesthetics and graced with much laughter that would rival the most rarified salons of Europe. Lord Falmouth was the sort who 'knew what he liked' when it came to art. He never much went in for the blots and scribble scrabble that some insisted was fine art in modern circles. As a spectator happy to sit with a very nice Campari and soda at hand and even put his two pence in, and felt warmed by their happy chatter, looking up at him from where they sat and bring his ideas into the ongoing talk. Lord Falmouth began to learn through the spirited discussion of the young that perhaps there was more than meets the eye with these modern paintings. Isn't it a interesting fancy to simply consider the color red upon blue? Isn't there room to ponder something so basic, stir other ideas from such a simple basis of a concept? Aren't the skittery drops and swirly mess of some of these modern works in tune with the anxieties of the modern age? The strange world we traverse in which atom bombs and war machines keep us all pinned into place? Funny how conversations can tease out these things... Quite interesting...

Caroline, always a thoughtful hostess, considered her evening very carefully. There was a dinner at Count Schön's castle in three days and it was imperative that the ongoing explanation of the Poldark's life leading to their arrival at the folly was completed over the next two nights, not only to inform them but to let Ross and Dem recover somewhat from having to recount upsetting aspects of their time in Marseilles. Caroline was certain that Lord Falmouth, Hugh and Dwight would be as appalled and offended by the Poldarks mistreatment as she had been. She felt very protective over them both. They had been very frightened and plunged into a harrowing situation. They kept it locked away for their own peace of mind. To dredge it up afresh was not easy and Caroline wanted to be as supportive and helpful to them as she could. She wanted them fed well, given the happiness of a dessert that she knew they loved and keep them overnight to look after them both and give them time to feel better. The early afternoon was spent in a resumption of their chats about art for she would not dream of jumping into unpleasantness before the meal. The meal was lovely, not only because the food was well prepared but the friendship between them shone brightly. They liked each other. Came to care for each other a great deal over this summer so filled with magic and rent in twain by George Warleggan's harassment. The conversation during the meal was light. They passed plates and ate and felt laid back and relaxed in the pretty dinning room, all friends together and the meal conducted without servants waiting at table. Lord Falmouth, Hugh and Caroline relished the novelty of feeling cozy and a bit independent, passing platters of food hand to hand in good will and serving one's self, much as Ross and Dem did in their little doll house folly. Dwight, Ross and Demelza liked the reprieve from more formal meals and the cessation of plates being whisked away and replaced in front of them like the brooms with arms that walked by themselves and did chores in the Sorcerer's Apprentice. The servants resumed their work, unseen, afterwards clearing the table. The cream cake brought happiness to them all. Rather than continuing in the house they went out to the small courtyard. A well designed paved court with small lemon trees growing in each of the four corners and accessible from the living area on one side and the kitchens on the other. Weathered pillars flanked one side along a covered colonnade and an oval table with proper wooden chairs, not folding ones, that were ample and comfortable invited all to sit and talk, sit and listen in comfort. Caroline dismissed the servants and let them have an evening off as they chose. Many of the staff were out on the town. The villa was quiet with the constant comings and goings of the servants absent. Time for a tale.

Sitting with tea and more cake, taken in lazy mouthfuls from green glass dessert plates, frilled in rigid swirls that caught the light as dusk fell over the courtyard and the candlelight became more and more bright. Pale green thickening to dark, forest green in the molded glass. They foraged the rubbly slices of cassata with the spindly forks that were provided. Getting a clean slice never lasted long. The cake became undone as it flipped to the side like a fruit fallen from a tree and burst apart. It became a ruin of cake and cream and candied fruit picked at with glee as the sharp tang of the citron and peel, the mellow grainy texture of candied pear, the bitter edge of almonds tempered by the sugar in the marzipan, the syrup like sweetness of candied cherries mixed with the ricotta and liquor soused sponge cake, cream and fondant all jostled for the tongue's attention and melded together in sweet harmony. Ross, Dem, Dwight, Caroline, Hugh and Lord Falmouth had a quiet time in the open air of the courtyard. They waited for enough space to allow the Poldarks to resume their tale. Caroline, the only other person in the group who knew of the Poldark's predicament tread carefully. They had not heard how Ross and Dem learned to draw and had not heard why a job situation so positive and nurturing became abandoned. The sticking point of their time inbetween these two stories was yet to come. The time had come to wade into the deeper waters of the Poldarks' time in Marseilles. "What I don't understand," began Caroline, "Is why the job at the growers compound ended. They were willing to have you back and looked after you two, very conscientiously I should say!" The men nodded agreement. Their employment picking fruit and vegetables, looked after with care in the women's dormitory and treated well by the growers seemed ideal for two young people on their own with no true grasp of the French language. Ross, who was savoring more cake on the back of the tines of his fork looked around the table. These were their friends. Fast friends. True friends. Caroline was sympathetic and Hugh, his uncle and Dwght would be too. They were helpful and understanding. Wanted to know about the things Ross and Dem had gone through, not out of a hunger for scandal or gossip but because the cared deeply for them. They would listen and understand. They would not seek to blame them or think badly of them. He looked to Dem, and Dem looked at him lovingly. They could talk. Talking was better than keeping it in. No alcohol to bring them aid, save what flavored the cake, but that also meant less maudlin melancholy and guilt would creep into things. They would talk. Their friends would listen. A burden shared would harm them less and then the future could be considered with those bad times discreetly forgotten by all. The others watched Ross and Dem exchange glances. Ross' eyes glittered in the flicker of flame in a nearby candle and he had his dessert fork, tines down, in his mouth like a lollipop stick. Dem had just swallowed a bite of cake. This summer of milk and eggs, pasta and cream and so many good meals with their friends had let their faces fill out a little. They blinked agreement that she would explain and they looked as charming as Hummel figurines for Ross blinked his eyes as if to say, "Go on, Sweetness..." with their candlelit eyes and their faces plumped by a summer of plenty. Dem gave a timid smile to Caroline as she answered, "That was before the raid..."

Jean-Lambert did not return after his disgrace in being unmasked as a card cheat. Pierre said that he had been sacked. 'And good riddance!' was the common reaction to this news within the growers compound. The season would end by September. Other staff tended tended the fields all year long but the seasonal workers would not be needed until the next year. Many moved on finding other places, to work, to live. Ross and Dem were assured that they were welcome to come back. Ross would be sixteen in truth by then and they had proven themselves hard working, model employees. The bosses were happy to let Dem, who they still believed to be male, slide under the wire for another year. Ross being of age next season put them both on firmer ground. Their immigration status was discreetly overlooked. Ross and Dem were given the same forbearance that adults received in the compound. Do your work and mind your manners among the workers and the growers would keep your secrets safe. Bad apples like Pierre and Jean-Lambert did show up from time to time but in general the growers came to rely on the symbiotic relationships between the workers who were in France under precarious circumstances and the on going need for labor. It was an open secret. The authorities knew the agricultural sector was filled with under the table deals and looking the other way in their seasonal hires. So long as the bulk of permanent staff were legal, the summer workers and their employers were left to get on with providing the produce that fed the country and earned money for France in export products. Looking too closely at the workers would risk pulling out the card that would make the house fall. Fruit and vegetables were dependent upon cheap labor and it was best assured in this way. Public opinion varied. Some didn't trouble themselves over illegal immigrants. Some were upset by the idea that layabouts from other countries took jobs away from hardworking Frenchmen. The police had little cause to trouble the growers, let them get on with things. But public opinion sometimes made political hay in needing to make a show of defending France from cheats who came to the country illegally. Jean-Lambert in a black mood, nursing his wounds both physically for he had been roundly beaten up after the cards in his shirt sleeves were discovered, and his thirst for revenge. Garance's little chickens weren't even here legally. A French born convict had more right to a job than illegals who were not old enough to work anyway. Cutting clear a bunch of foreigners might give Frenchmen like Jean-Lambert more options in employment and might stick it to the growers too. Force them to spend more of the money they were so stingy with and pay better. It was a matter of patriotism! Patriotism in French hiring French! Patriotism in hiring grown adults, not children! "What's that you say?" asked a policeman having a drink. He had rolled his eyes at the guy ranting and raving about the growers compound beyond the smaller towns. He paid more attention he mentioned children working there. Jean-Lambert gestured with his hand in disgust. "I got sacked! A hard worker! A grown man! They rather hire illegals and children!" The cop came nearer. The season was ending... "You say there are underage workers out there?" Jean-Lambert swallowed down his beer. "OUI! They have two boys barely out of their nappies in the fields! They put them with the women because they are too little to board with men. Little English brats! Long hair on 'em like big women! Hippie babies!" The policeman considered this information. They had not had a romp in a while, a diversion in the police station, a bit of fun. Two English, underage boys with a pay packet for the season were a temptation. They would have no bank account to keep it in and no recourse to complain if they were also illegal. They could not complain about anything...

Ross was giving the ladies excellent entertainment as one of them patiently showed him how to cast yarn on a knitting needle and having gotten that far begin to teach him how to knit. Dem sat near as a spectator as well and Ross smiled shyly as he gamely followed the tips and instructions of the women around him. He was slow to learn. The stitches were ragged and misaligned. He was stubborn and convinced he could get the hang of it. The women let him learn by doing and he kept on, not in the least because Papa and the Paynters would laugh and be surprised that Ross had learned to knit in his travels. He would surprise Prudie one day, sit in the parlor knitting with her needles and they'd all have a good laugh... Garance came running in and had to catch her breath, dramatically, clutching one of the bunk beds and pressing her hand to her chest as she collected herself. She was incapable of doing anything by half measures. Sarah Bernhardt would have envied Garance the dramatic spectacle of her entrance. "Raid! A raid! Mon dieu!" Many of the women shrieked. Raids and expulsion were a chance one took in any country. In this compound they were sitting ducks. They might be kicked out of France without receiving their wages. The season was not yet finished and the pay was in cash unless you had a place to tell them to wire it to. The growers did not keep that information for everyone's protection, the workers and the owners all worked on a 'need to know basis' important when loose, dubious employment arrangements were made. They would be lined up at the mercy of the cops. If they were lucky they were trying to smoke out criminals working incognito, the other workers would be left alone. If they were unlucky they might be detained and kicked out of France. Garance looked around the room. She looked everyone in the eye, tried to reassure each woman that the police arriving may still come to nothing. Sometimes they did not bother with the women and that luck might still hold. "Everyone! Stay here and wait. There is nothing to do but wait to see what they want out of this." The women nodded but the tension was clear on their faces. Garance turned to her little chickens. Ross froze looking at her with knitting needles in his hands, learning to knit like the good children they were. "Ross! Dem! Vite! Hurry! Come with me!"

Ross and Dem followed Garance into the hall in a different direction than the entrance and exit they always used. She led them up a back stair, rickety metal stairs painted in a flaked, coppered green. They turned, up and up, the tight turning steps set at sharp angles with old fashioned, filigree iron swirls repeating their design under the banister railings. She whispered in a hiss, hard to hear over their footsteps on the metal stairs. "You must be silent! Silent! Don't come out until you are told to by me! If someone else tells you 'Come out!' DO NOT! DO NOT I SAY! Vite, vite!" Garance led Ross and Dem into a small office and made them hide in a cupboard hidden behind stacks of burlap. Garance piled more in front of them and shushed them distractedly. "Quiet, mes poupées! I will come back for you..." Ross and Dem were shut up in a dark cupboard and heard Garance leave the way they came. It was hot and pitch black. They strained to hear activity beyond but the room was silent. They did not have room to move very much. Dem lay her head on Ross' shoulder. Ross laid his cheek against Dem's hair. They could hear each other breathe. They could feel each other's veins pulsing. They waited. 

Garance, as she took each step back to the common areas of the dormitory, regained her calm demeanor. The adults knew the score. They knew there was always the possibility that the authorities would arrive. There was a likely chance that a criminal was being smoked out and the rest of the staff, that ALL, the flic, the growers, the workers, knew were here in varying states of legality, would be left alone. Ross and Dem were another matter. There was leeway in the compound to look the other way from time to time when hiring underage workers. Ross and Dem being found as workers might get the growers fined as well as putting the children at the mercy of the authorities. They might be deported and their status as illegal immigrants insured that the police would care little for their welfare. There was also the fact that Dem was female. Garance knew how bent and no good police could be. Her chickens were well hidden. She had to act natural. She patted her brow with a paper tissue and used a blotting paper to stop the shine on her nose. She was calm because there was no reason to panic. The raid would be borne and the chips would fall. Sometimes they made a fuss for the sake of a prisoner... "Oh!" Garance saw the women craning their necks to look out the windows. No one had come to the women's quarters but the police were already taking someone away from the men. Garance went out the hall and continued on to the exit. "Who was..." But she could see now. Pierre was hiding here with some sort of trouble on his back, maybe an outstanding warrant. Garance stood next to the man who had let Ross and Dem in against his better judgement. He had come to like them and looked to her without speaking. He raised his eyebrows. "Oui," said Garance, quietly. He nodded. Having gotten their man, perhaps that was an end to it. One of the bosses was arguing and gesturing angrily to a group of policemen. They began to walk to the woman's dormitory. He looked between Garance and his employment steward as if butter would melt in his mouth. "These so and sos insist we've got kids working here!" Garance raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" she asked. The man spoke up, eager to get the cops off their back. I process everyone who works here! There are no kiddies here!" The police demanded to search the dormitory. Garance sighed. "Dinner will be in two hours, will the meal be allowed to go forward if you are still on the premises?" The police talked among themselves, shrugging. The policeman turned back to her. "Yes, the dinner may be served. We are here specifically to insure no child labor is being used here." Garance led them inside. "Ladies! The police wish to look around the dormitory. Please stay at your assigned bunks until they have left the premises. Dinner will be at its regular time. A hum of whispered translation was heard and the women retreated to their beds except Marisol who went to Ross' bunk as if it were hers and began to strum on his guitar, feigning ownership of the instrument. The police looked from top to bottom. It was a simply laid out facility and the showers were empty, the common rooms had few places to hide. The lockers were too slender to let even the thinnest person within them and it seemed that the tip had not panned out. Having picked up a guy on an outstanding warrant, the trip was not completely a waste. "Where do those steps go?" The boss flapped his hand in their direction impatiently. "An office. No great mystery!" They tromped up the steps. Ross and Dem were hot and sweaty. They heard multiple sets of feet banging up the stairs and redoubled their efforts to stay silent. The cupboard was opened and masses of burlap were removed. Empty. The small office held no other place where anyone could hide. The sound of feet descending the stairs was heard. In utter darkness Ross and Dem waited for Garance. The police left. Dinner went forward. Lights out at the night's end as well. A meeting ensued. It was unfortunate but Ross and Dem had to be let go. Having them continue to work was playing with fire. They would get what pay was coming to them and Ross would be sixteen in truth next season. There was every chance that Ross and Dem could return and resume their jobs. To keep them now was too risky. In the dead of night, Garance went up to the office to let Ross and Dem out. She worried for them but they had enough money to rent a room and the promise to be allowed to return next season with less shadow over them since Ross would be of age. Burlap spilled out on the floor everywhere and Garance tsk tsked over the mess. She knelt down and wiggled a wooden panel away from the side of the cupboard. In the dim light of the desk lamp Ross and Dem blinked at Garance like owls in the darkness of a tree hollow. "Come along, my dears. You are safe now but we must talk..." Already having the experience of stowing away in a cargo hold, being cooped up in a false backed compartment of the cupboard was not such a hardship. The bosses told Ross and Dem that they must be let go. They promised to hire back Ross at least and see if Dem could be put to work as well in next year's season. They were promised their full wages for the season, not just to date. And they were thanked for proving themselves hard working, good young men. Ross and Dem thanked them for the chance to work and shook hands. Garance gave both of them hugs. "Oh, my dears. We will all be back next season, eh! You will play more guitar and we will have our good times again, won't we?!" Ross and Dem nodded. They were too disappointed to speak. But they had not lost out. They both had all their wages and the good will of the growers who gave them the insured promise of work for Ross as well as trying to allow Dem a place even as she was still a year too young. She maintained her disguise as a boy and they had the money to rent a room. Things were still looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man, Black Sabbath 1970
> 
> I am iron man  
> Has he lost his mind?  
> Can he see or is he blind?  
> Can he walk at all  
> Or if he moves will he fall?  
> Is he alive or dead?  
> Has he thoughts within his head?  
> We'll just pass him there  
> Why should we even care?  
> He was turned to steel  
> In the great magnetic field  
> Where he traveled time  
> For the future of mankind  
> Nobody wants him  
> He just stares at the world  
> Planning his vengeance  
> That he will soon unfold  
> Now the time is here  
> For iron man to spread fear  
> Vengeance from the grave  
> Kills the people he once saved  
> Nobody wants him  
> They just turn their heads  
> Nobody helps him  
> Now he has his revenge  
> Heavy boots of lead  
> Fills his victims full of dread  
> Running as fast as they can  
> Iron man lives again
> 
> En famille: homestyle, rather than a formal meal with separate courses and servants at the ready, all the food accessible at once in a more relaxed way
> 
> The Sorcerer's Apprentice was a portion of the 1940 Disney movie, Fantasia. Mickey Mouse uses magic he cannot control to enchant brooms to do his chores for him.
> 
> Hummel figurines: Based on the drawings of Sister Maria Innocentia Hummel and sold from the mid 1930s onward, small porcelain figurines of adorable, rounded cheeked children were wildly popular collectables. American soldiers stationed in West Germany after WWII sent the cute ornaments home starting a second wave of popularity and later a collectors market to secure rare designs.
> 
> Sacked:fired
> 
> Vite: quickly
> 
> Mes poupées: my dolls
> 
> Bent: corrupt
> 
> Flic: cops, police


	27. I've Seen That Face Before(Libertango)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nabbed

Ross and Dem left their carnival prizes with Garance. She put the ceramic cat on a shelf by the wall clock in the dormitory and hung the black felt cowboy hat on a nail. The trinkets became a promise to return as well as something to remember them by. That the compound shed Jean-Lambert and Pierre was not seen by anyone as a hardship. Losing the two English boys was unfortunate. The women gave them hugs, the men shook their hands and all wished them well. With their clothes in a bag over Dem's shoulder and Ross holding his guitar they waved goodbye to the other workers. They smiled. It was sad to have to leave but they had been looked after well and were happy to see so many friends see them off as well as Garance waving her handkerchief as if they were boarding a steam ship to the new world. They bid their goodbye to everyone in the compound and boarded the little bus that brought them that first day when they landed in Marseilles. The rows of the fields they had toiled in and learned to meet that work well whizzed past the window, lush looking and vividly green underneath the bright blue sky. When Ross and Dem arrived the fields just looked picturesque. They left knowing what that soil felt like under foot. They knew how tired their muscles felt at the end of a working day. They knew they were equal to the task now, not only because they felt less fatigue and could see how much more ability they had but because their grown up co workers had told them so. The bosses were happy with their work and had no problem inviting them back for the next season. To let them go early was just a sad inconvenience that the police raid made necessary. There were far fewer people riding back. Not as many people would board by the docks to go back. The seasonal workers would not be needed until next year and the bus shuttled out those who were moving on and brought back workers who wanted to run errands in the larger town like shopping for needed items and making inquiries in the boarding houses. The dorms would empty out. Those who wanted to remain in the area, doing other work until the new season began and rehiring occured, rented rooms in the many boarding houses thereabouts. This was what Ross had planned from the first. To rent a room with his summer money and busking in all but the worst weather to supplement his day to day expenses. With Dem as a partner they had twice the money. They would split the takings from busking, have a roof over their head and return to the growers compound in spring. They had each other for company. They liked being friends and now they'd even have someone they knew well to celebrate Christmas and New Year's with. The bright morning light made all the water in the distance sparkle. Dem let Ross have the window since she had it on the way up and wanted Ross to have the same view. To see the landscape and remember it. To hold the memory and know the satisfaction of returning next year knowing the route. She watched Ross looking out the window. The sun lit the brown of his hair and made it show a little more, showed lighter and gilded within hair so dark it seemed black in most lights. The edge of his smile showed at his cheek. He looked happy and it cheered her. They had to leave early but the growers gave them all their wages as if they had finished the season with the rest. They were going to play music, one of the things he liked best. They were friends and things were going their way. The bus lurched and wobbled over the cobblestones back by the arch were they first waited for it. Ross and Dem thanked the driver. Ross and Dem waved to the man with the clipboard and he waved back with his good hand.

They walked away from the docks to get to the main part of town where the shops and restaurants were. Nearer to the areas where they could rent lodgings. Ross and Dem had their wages in the guitar case and felt a bit nervous over it. It was stuck in the pocket where sheet music could be stored. The plump wad of cash was pushed down as far as it could go with a bandanna stuffed on top to hide it. Ross and Dem walked together with a proud gait in the bright afternoon. They had their own money and the means for more. "Dem!" smiled Ross. "What?" said Dem smiling back for Ross' face was so happy she could not help but grin back. "Let's go to that fountain and busk right now!" Dem's eyes widened. "Really?!" Dem was surprised. Ross still grinned but came closer to whisper. We can try our luck to buy a meal. I don't want to take the the money out of the case." He looked about in a shifty manner. "I don't want anyone to see us pull our wages out of the guitar case. We must be careful!" Dem nodded. Ross stood upright again and strode proudly through the square. He had enough faith in their ability to charm the public that he was convinced they could earn enough for a slap up meal right away. "We'll have sandwiches at least! Maybe frites too! If you sing I'm sure we'll get good takings!" Dem grinned wider. Ross' enthusiasm was infectious. They set up by an ornamental fountain where people were already sitting at its edge in various places and many were crossing the square to go were they were bound. Ross sat on the edge of the fountain and took out the guitar with the case open at his feet. The interior was black and the pocket within so flush against the lid one would be hard pressed to suggest that a large sum of cash was present. Even the red bandana was unseen. Ross strummed already garnering some attention for it. Some stood about, taking a pause from their travels to see what this long haired boy could do. Was he a talent or was he just a chancer who looked the part but couldn't play? Dem stood next to him by the fountain. "What shall it be, Dem!" asked Ross. She grinned. Ross looked very happy and excited to be performing. They often practiced in the dormitory and already had a few numbers they knew well. "Let Me Call You Sweetheart?" suggested Dem. "Right!" And Ross began. They hit upon a formula that let Dem sing twice with Ross playing the melody inbetween. This let people standing have a show and people walking by get a good listen and perhaps toss a coin as they passed. Ross played an introduction and Dem, in boys jeans, a man's button down shirt and a trilby hat, stood next to Ross, with the bag of their belongings on the ground between her legs, and looked across the square. She did not look at other people or even the buildings ahead of her. She stood with a far off look and sang,

Let me call you sweetheart  
I'm in love with you  
Let me hear you whisper  
That you love me too  
Keep the love light glowing  
In your eyes so true  
Let me call you sweetheart  
I'm in love with you  
Keep the love light glowing  
In your eyes so true  
Let me call you sweetheart  
I'm in love with you

Ross' accompaniment under Dem's singing was simple, for he wanted listeners to focus on Dem. Her pretty voice could just as easily come from a boy who's voice had not changed and lent a holy sort of choir boy sentimentality. Her faraway look and relaxed arms, a sort of hovering in her place as she sang clear and strong was angelic and calm. The song was in English but well known enough to be pleasing. Ross played the melody with but more flourish in the middle. Dem turned to watch him with a proud smile. Standing alongside, admiring his music. Ross played the guitar in a way that seemed to have the lyrics as well as the melody all at once. He could strum and pick the strings in such away that the chords and the plucking sounded at the same time. He watched his fingers but he also smiled at the spectators, nodded his thanks when change was dropped in the case and smiled at Dem when she took up the song a second time. Dem felt proud when Ross smiled up at her. She felt his regard for her singing and the glee he felt in performing together. When they had finished there was applause, compliments and people coming forward to toss money in the guitar case. Ross was correct. A good pitch, a busy place to put themselves in the way of pedestrians, and Dem's lovely voice along with his playing was a winner. They shook hands and smiled into each other's eyes. Ross and Dem were partners. They put on a good show. They plucked up the money from the case, filled their pockets with it and went to find a cafe celebrate their first proper street performance with a good lunch.

But they did not see Pierre hanging on the edge of the crowd. Having been released from being in the cells overnight because he had confirmed to the police that two English kids did work underage in the growers compound insisting that they would end up in the town because the bosses would think it was too risky to keep them. The cops pulled him in on a warrant but let him go again with no great qualms. Pierre was a villain who would blunder his way back into the cells before long. Two foreign kids flush with money, minors who were most likely here illegally, were a rare opportunity for a fun night of mischief. Low hanging fruit, be they kids or young women, helpless enough to fuel the jolly sort of antic they hadn't indulged in for a while at the station. The stewbums and men picked up for brawling had been cleared out of the cells after a Bastille celebration that was quiet on the whole. No big problems. People were mellow after all the excitement and fun and there was time for the police to entertain themselves. The sort of goings on that insured the ongoing fraternity of the station for it was a matter of honor to be loyal, not be a taleteller and keep secrets for each other. A matter of trust that the police had each other's protection first and foremost. Crossing dark lines together made them brothers in truth, a surity of silence, a bond of trust. A policeman nearby exchanged a nod of confirmation with Pierre and went to follow Ross and Dem through the streets. "You were wonderful, Dem! We'll have frites too!" said Ross happily. "Frites and a croque madame!" That was music to Dem's ears. A grilled sandwich filled with ham, cheese and a fried egg and fried potatoes alongside. She was about to answer back when they heard a whistle sound behind they. "You! You two!" Yelled a policeman a few yards behind them with a metal whistle. People in the street watched the unfolding drama. Housewives with their shopping and children at hand, laborers and men in the street turning to see what the commotion was. Ross and Dem turned to look, standing with the guitar case and bag of clothes looking confused and worried. The policeman came to stand by them. "You are English? Tu parles anglais?" Ross and Dem nodded. "You come with me! You are working underage!" Their mouths fell open. "We aren't! I'm sixteen!" said Ross. Best to stick to a basic story. Dem stayed silent. She was frightened he might see she was not a boy "You must come with me to the station!" With no good way to get out of this situation Ross as Dem, meekly, followed the police man to a police car, still clutching the guitar and bag of clothes to go to the station. The car moved forward in the street and Ross and Dem saw onlookers straining to see them in the car windows as the car drove on. Ross leaned near Dem wanting to whisper to her. "Shut up, you! You sit and be quiet!" Ross shrank away from Dem wide eyed and scared. They were going to the police station for something that was true. Neither Ross or Dem were sixteen and they were living in France as stowaways. The policeman was ill tempered and they had no choice but to face what questions were put to them and hope to be let go. He and Dem exchanged a look of nervousness. They rode to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've Seen That Face Before(Libertango) , Grace Jones 1981
> 
> Strange, I've seen that face before  
> Seen him hanging 'round my door  
> Like a hawk stealing for the prey  
> Like the night waiting for the day  
> Strange, he shadows me back home  
> Footsteps echo on the stones  
> Rainy nights, on Hausmann Boulevard  
> Parisian music drifting from the bars  
> Tu cherches quoi, rencontrer la mort?  
> Tu te prends pour qui?  
> Toi aussi, tu détestes la vie?  
> Dance in bars and restaurants  
> Home with anyone who wants  
> Strange he's standing there alone  
> Staring eyes chill me to the bone  
> Dans sa chambre, Joel et sa valise  
> Un regard sur ses fringues  
> Sur les murs, des photos  
> Sans regret, sans mélo  
> La porte est claquée  
> Joel est barré
> 
> Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Bing Crosby 1944
> 
> Stewbums: drunks


	28. The Harder They Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theft and a gingerbread house

"So, you are Nick Smith?" said the policeman. Ross nodded his head 'yes'. The policeman turned to Dem. "And you are Tom Smith?" Dem nodded her head 'yes' nervously. They were not able to speak to each other but Ross' use of an alias was mimicked by Dem at once. They were made to empty their pockets. The coins they earned busking shone in a dull, gleaming constellation on the dark varnished wood of the desk. "You are brothers?" Ross spoke as politely as his nerves would allow. "Cousins, sir." The policeman did not seem to disbelieve them. "You say you are sixteen. Do you have proof of this?" Ross tried to be calm, this was just a momentary inconvenience. They were harmless and broke no laws if you set aside entering France illegally and working underage... "No, sir." He looked from one to the other. "Do you deny working at the growers compound?" Not wanting to get their bosses in trouble, Ross said. "We are just travelling, sir." Ross gestured to his guitar. "We busk in the street to earn our money. "Where do you live?" asked the policeman looking skeptical. Ross and Dem exchanged a nervous look. "We just arrived! We were going to rent a room when you came along..." said Dem. "You came by boat?" There was no good answer to that question. If they said yes the demand to know which one or show him a ticket or some other sort of proof would soon follow, as a result Ross and Demelza said nothing. "You were renting a room? With what? You say you were not working." Ross piped up, "We had some money put by!" The policeman looked them up and down. "In British pounds? Where is this money?" Ross and Dem's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. In the fright and shock of being made to show their pay packets the policemen around them started to smile. They were decidedly not nice smiles. "We can frisk you, we can strip search you, do you know what that means?" They shook they heads 'no'. "It means that man over there..." they turned to see a heavy set policeman with a stony looking face leaning against the bars of a holding cell. "...will take off all of your clothes in that cell and find your money. He likes doing that chore. He is very good at it. We will watch, of course..." Ross' mouth fell open. The cell was just metal bars. Anyone who came into the station would have full view. On top of the indignity and embarrassment they could not afford to have Dem undressed and shown to be female. Ross said, "The money is in my guitar case, but... " A gleem of greed passed between the policeman at the desk and the two others in the room. "Take out the money. Put it on the desk." Ross and Dem looked at each other. It was all their wages. All the money they had in the world. "But, sir..." began Dem. The policeman banged on the desk with his hand and it made them jump in their seats. "Do as you are told!" Ross swallowed down his nerves and bent down to open the guitar case. He looked up with pleading eyes as he put his hand into the sheet music pocket and pulled out half the pay packet. He placed it on the desk. The policemen looked at each other. The policeman snapped his fingers at the other policeman in the room. "Search the case." Ross' eyes widened. "But, sir! We..." They did not listen. The policeman came round and put his hand in the pocket, removing the bandana and the rest of the money with a snicker. Dem felt sick. It was becoming clear that these policemen were going to take away their wages. The second portion of the wages was put next to the first. "So you are thieves?" asked the policeman. "Where did you get all this money? This French money?" Ross and Dem had no answer. They did not want to implicate their friends at the compound and nobody could make that much cash from street performing. "I am impounding this money! You say you have not stolen it and you are English. We will call the embassy and verify your claim..." All the color drained out of Ross' face. He had no idea how the court case had gone. If they called and found out his real name he might be in even more trouble. The stolen car, stowing away and working underage in France would land him in borstal for certain! Dem was afraid. If they found out that she was a girl and not related to Ross they might separate her from Ross and send her back to the Home or worse, her father. "Please sir!" said Ross in a panic. "Please! We just want to rent a room! We won't make any trouble! We just want to rent a room and live quietly! We aren't criminals!" Dem joined the plea. "Honest! We were looking for lodging when you found us! Please let us have our money! We won't make any trouble!" Ross' lip began to tremble in spite of himself. "Please don't take our money! It's all that we have!" The policemen laughed. Ross and Dem looked around the police station. It was all old wood and no nonsense. A French flag stood in a pole in the far corner of the room with a dusty gilt finial on top. There were other holding cells beyond. Filing cabinets and wire baskets that held official looking documents. Notices and wanted posters on the wall. They were in a police station and the police could do whatever they wanted. Ross and Dem had no way of arguing for themselves that wouldn't get them into trouble. "Please! Please don't take our money!" begged Ross. The policeman hovered his hand over the black telephone on the desk. "There is nothing to fear, a quick telephone call will sort everything out, I'm sure!" At the sight of Ross and Dem's stricken looking faces the police began to laugh. "What? What could be wrong? You are English musicians who are sixteen and here legally, eh?" Ross felt totally helpless. Papa said he would end up in borstal or dead if he stayed in Cornwall and it seemed Ross managed to make all his problems multiply. Demelza became tearful. She ran away from the Home. Her father might actually kill her if he was told she had run away with a boy out of the country. She shivered involuntarily to think of the beating he'd give her once he got her home. The police started laughing. "Get out!" Ross looked dumbstruck. "What!?" "Go on, get out of here!" laughed the policeman, "Go sing for your supper!" Dem started to cry in earnest. "We have no money! Don't take all our money!" Ross nodded. He tried to bargin, calmly. "Even half will see us safe! We can't rent a room without money! Half is more than you had before you found us!" Dem nodded with a sort of despair. "Yes! Please, please! Don't take all our money! You can keep half and we can still rent a room!" cried Dem. The policeman gave them a sinister grin. "Do you know the punishment for bribing a police officer?" Ross frowned, becoming angry. "It isn't a bribe! You are thieves taking our money! It's ours!" The policeman picked up the pay packet. One bunch in each hand. It was all they had earned, the culmination of all the hard work they had done and the joy the man showed in taking it from them was scary. He brought both sums of money together and put them in a cigar box on the desk. "These funds belong to the French government. Get out!" Ross stood, not really knowing what to do. If he grabbed the money, his money, and made a run for it the police wouldn't think twice about arresting them and he could not have Dem exposed as a girl. Ross looked to Dem still in her seat and her face blotchy from crying. For her sake, for the sake of promising his friend he would look after her, Ross turned again to the policeman. His brows knit and his eyes begged in a final appeal to the policeman's sense of fairness. "Please!?" All three policemen laughed and Ross and Dem could see they had no recourse. Dem, sniffling and wiping her face with the back of her hand, picked up the bag of clothes. Ross, angry and demoralized, closed the guitar case and said, "Come on, Tom! We'll figure something out..." With the laughter of the cops ringing in their ears and a sick feeling of despair in their stomachs, they walked out of the police station and down the street.

They had no destination. They wanted to put distance between them and the thieving police who saw them as an opportunity to enrich themselves at their expense. They were completely penniless. "What can we do?" whimpered Dem. "We surely can't busk ourselves enough money for a boarding house room!" Ross' mind felt like a blank piece of paper. He could not think. Every attempt to think froze and he felt nervous and afraid. They had no place to sleep tonight. They had no money for lodging or even food. They had no job anymore. "Oh Dem, I don't..." At that moment a person they did not expect to see appeared in front of them. "Well, well! If it isn't Garance's little chickens..." chuckled Pierre in French. He barred their way on the sidewalk. "Of all the people to meet in Marseilles!" he said, switching to English. Ross and Dem moved to walk around him but he moved in concert to continue to stop them walking forward. "What have we here? You striking out on your own? Don't you have your nursemaid with you?" At the point Ross was going to give Pierre a piece of his mind another man called out, in French. "You there! Leave those boys alone!" Pierre raised his chin. "What's it to you?" Ross and Dem turned to see a portly man walking up the pavement. He wore modest, respectable clothes, and frowned at Pierre. "These two look like good boys and you look like you've got bad intent. On your way!" Pierre gave an unsettling look of malice at Ross and Dem and walked off. Not wanting to be rude Ross said, "Thank you, sir..." The man looked them up and down and said, in English, "You should go home, you shouldn't be wandering about..." They both looked sad, the insult and horror of having had their money taken away by the police was too fresh an injury. "Haven't you got a home?" They shook their heads 'no'. He looked from on to the other. "Have you eaten?" They shook their heads 'no'. Once more. "Well, I cannot give you a home but I was on my way to have a meal. You will have to fend for yourselves afterwards but I can stand you a meal. Will you come have a meal? I'll pay." Ross looked at Dem. Dem looked at Ross. It would be one problem less of they had something to eat... They nodded yes. "Come walk this way, I go to a tavern with very good food, you will eat well..." The man seemed generous, mild mannered and made Pierre clear off. They followed him through many streets to a tavern with rooms to let upstairs. Ross got the sudden idea that they could ask to wash dishes or other chores for the sake of staying over tonight. Maybe they could stay off the street tonight. They would have their meal, so nicely offered by this man and Ross could ask the management afterwards if they might work for a roof over their head tonight. That was a plan. That was more of a plan that he had when they were turned out of the police station. Dem looked to Ross. She could see his mood lift and that made her hopeful. Maybe he had an idea. They would have food to eat at least.

The man opened the door to wave them in. "Here we are, good food here..." The tavern was old fashioned and charming. The proprietor, a blond haired man with bloodshot blue eyes a bulbous nose, beefy arms crossed over a dark blue apron his shirt and trousers, looked a bit shifty but had a broad smile and welcomed them all. He unfolded his arms and hailed them, arms wide, like long lost friends. "Enter my friend! And you have brought me more customers! Wonderful! Wonderful! Lay your bag and guitar by the coatrack! Come sit! Come sit!" They set down their bag and the guitar. There was no money to guard and the tables and chairs were arranged in such a way that keeping them near would get in the way of the waitstaff. The tablecloths were starched and bright white. A carafe of water was brought. Glasses filled and menus provided. Their host told them to order whatever they liked. "I am partial to the steak frites..." Ross and Dem, cautious not to seem greedy agreed that steak fries would be good. There was a salad, bread in a napkin lined basket and the waiter gave the man paying wine. "Can you give each of my friends here a soft drink? They are too young for spirits." The waiter provided two colas for Ross and Dem and they thanked their benefactor. The steak was cooked to perfection. The frites were slender and crisp and more were ordered since the man declared that the young boys had strong appetites. More bread was served and Ross and Dem gleefully tore the bread into pieces, using them to sop up the bloodstained juices and richly flavored grease on their plates. The food was delicious and the man ordered cognac to sip while he allowed Ross and Dem a very glamorous ice cream sundae each, two scoops of vanilla ice cream coated with a thick, hot caramel sauce under a fluffy tuft of whipped cream and topped with a glossy bright red cherry in a tall fluted glass. It was like ambrosia from heaven. Ross and Dem wielded long spoons to eat it and were entranced in a way. So involved with enjoying the delicious ice cream that the man's comment that he was excusing himself to the gents was only just registered with a nod. The cognac was left half drunk. The waiter left the bill next to the man's cognac in a small leatherette holder like a little folder. Having eaten every last drop of ice cream, Ross and Dem waited for the man to return from the bathroom.

He did not.

Ross and Dem looked at each other nervously. Their digestion was becoming twisted with anxiety. They realized that they had accepted a meal from a total stranger and had no idea who he was or where he was from. The other diners ate. New ones arrived. Others left. The sun was changing its position through the windows. A golden afternoon glow, dark gold, slanted through the windows. The waiter came by and asked if they were finished. "We are," said Ross. "But we are waiting for the man to return...." an hour passed. The owner came to their table. "You must settle up boys! We must turn this table for the dinner crowd!" Dem said. "The man that was paying hasn't returned yet..." The proprietor crossed his arms. "So that's your game, is it! To order yourselves a feast and skip out without paying?!" Ross looked alarmed. "No! No, sir!" He looked to Dem. He looked at all the diners around them watching the conversation with interest. He looked back at the owner. "No! He will come back, you said yourself! You know him. He's a regular customer!" The owner scowled. "I never saw him before in my life! You pay for the food you ate or I'll call the police!" Ross' mouth fell open with Dem's in tandem. "Please sir, the man said he would pay! He ordered the food! You saw him!" The owner growled, "All I see is two tricksters looking to skip out on a meal!" Dem, frightened at the idea that the police would have a second chance to be mean to them, maybe even arrest them, pleaded the only thing they could offer. "Please, sir! We were abandoned by the man who promised us a meal. We have no money but we can wash dishes or whatever work you want in return!" Ross nodded vigorously. "We can't pay you but we can work!" The owner frowned. "How do I know you won't just prance away when my back is turned?" Dem motioned to the coat rack. "Our things are over there. When you feel we have worked enough to pay our food back we will take them back!" Some of the diners were sympathetic to the pleas of these two boys. There had to have been a scoundrel for boys that young could not have ordered a cognac. "Don't be hard on the kids! You certainly didn't give them a cognac! The adult was to blame!" "Be kind, they were taken in like you were!" "Go on let 'em off..." Ross and Dem looked to the owner. The other diners were speaking French but it was clear they were all trying to argue that Ross and Dem were misled by the man who brought them. The owner played things carefully. The cognac was a clear sign that an adult had been at the table. If a diner felt sorry enough to pay for their food the boys could leave and that was an end to it... "Well, you two should learn not to take candy from strangers!" said the proprietor. "You wash some dishes for me and we'll call it quits!" Ross and Dem nodded, relieved. The other diners seemed content. The boys would learn not to trust strangers bearing gifts and the owner got some sense of value over the loss.

They followed the proprietor into the back. The banging and hustle and bustle of the kitchen was nearby but that was not where he took them. They went up a staircase to what seemed to be an attic room. A sole wooden door was at the top of the steps of an ill lit corridor. It opened to a room of ample size with a bed at the center of one wall and a table and chairs. There was a bureau, a tall chest of four drawers, to the left of the bed and a two small windows to the right. The room had an unpleasant musty scent. The bed was unkempt. The plain wooden slats of the floor showed stains in various places. Some clearly blood in places. A small toilet could be seen in a space little bigger than a closet to the left of the bureau. Ross opened his mouth to ask why they were here. The room surely needed cleaning. Maybe that was their job... He looked at the man whose face had changed. The indignation that they would not pay for the food had vanished. He looked satisfied now. "You stay here. You'll pay later..." Dem turned to Ross in fear. The man closed the door locked it and Ross and Dem heard his heavy footsteps trudge back down the steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harder They Come, Jimmy Cliff 1972
> 
> Oh yeah, oh yeah  
> Well they tell me of a pie up in the sky  
> Waiting for me when I die  
> But between the day you're born and when you die  
> They never seem to hear even your cry  
> So as sure as the sun will shine  
> I'm gonna get my share now of what's mine  
> And then the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Ooh the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Well the oppressors are trying to keep me down  
> Trying to drive me underground  
> And they think that they have got the battle won  
> I say forgive them Lord  
> They know not what they've done  
> 'Cause as sure as the sun will shine  
> I'm gonna get my share now of what's mine  
> And then the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Ooh the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Ooh, yeah, oh yeah, woah yeah ooh  
> And I keep on fighting for the things I want  
> Though I know that when you're dead you can't  
> But I'd rather be a free man in my grave  
> Than living as a puppet or a slave  
> So as sure as the sun will shine  
> I'm gonna get my share now of what's mine  
> And then the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Ooh the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, one and all  
> Yeah, the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall one and all  
> What I say now what I say now, ooh  
> What I say now what I say  
> One time, the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall  
> Wanna know  
> Ooh the harder they come  
> The harder they'll fall, wanna know


	29. Paint It Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do or die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peril, violence

Dem sat at the table. The wood of the chairs and tables was old, dried out plain furniture, no varnish or wax to smooth the surface. A scrufty texture of woodgrain so old and dry that one could feel the uneven growth rings in the grain and they rasped her fingertips. There were stains where glasses of drink had left rings. Ross looked at the table and frowned. Among the beverage rings were occasional old stains that looked distinctly biological on the table, old and dry. Dem might not be in a position to identify them but alarm bells went off for Ross at once. There was dried blood on the floor in places and the ghosts of other fluids, here and there. A trickle of fear went down Ross' spine. They were now in deep trouble. Ross looked out the windows. He opened one of them. "There's a drainpipe that might be strong enough to hold us if we climb down..." said Ross. Dem looked sad. "We would still have to run to get the clothes and the guitar..." Ross frowned. That was true. They were by the coat rack unless they had been moved. "Well... I guess we'll just chance it. I won't leave my guitar behind!" He shut the window and came over to the table to sit by Demelza. The sun was going down. "We'll have to climb out..." said Ross, trying to think through their escape. "Maybe I can run quick into the entrance to get our things and then we can make a run for it..." said Ross. They got up and looked in the chest of drawers. They got no farther than the top drawer when Ross' eyes widened. Dem gasped. Among old, yellowed newspapers there was a gun in the top drawer. Ross picked it up and looked at it. He handled it with more ease and confidence than Dem would have thought to credit Ross for. He kept it pointed away from them and checked the chamber. "It's loaded!" he squeaked in surprise. Dem looked stricken. "Put it back!" she whispered. Ross stared at the gun. "Out the window, Dem!" he said, somewhat to himself. "Out and down the drainpipe! It's the only way!" Dem stared at the gun. She had seen toys and guns in movies, on TV, but never in real life. She saw hunters sometimes with rifles walking or riding on horses from afar. Dem never held one or thought she would ever have cause to see a pistol up close. "Oh Ross! We have to get out of..." They heard footsteps. Multiple footsteps coming up the stairs. Ross and Dem exchanged a wide eyed look of fright, put the gun back, closed the drawer and went back to the table. They'd wasted what time they had to try and get out down the drainpipe.

They had barely sat down before the door opened. The three policemen who took their money were out of uniform, the man who bought them lunch was in uniform and Pierre came in the room. Dem started to shake. Ross stood up, angry. These men had stolen their money and tricked them into coming here. "How dare you! I will tell your superiors about your dirty tricks!" said Ross, angrily. The man who had taken their money turned to the man who had bought them lunch. "Did you make note of that information, Sir?" Ross stared. Dem started making a keening noise in the back of her throat. They were suggesting that the man who bought lunch was the superior officer in charge. No one would help them in Marseilles. "Get on the bed!" Barked the man who took their money. Ross took Dem's wrist and backed slowly towards the bed. Pierre started laughing. "It's cards again, chickens. I don't cheat like Jean-Lambert but I bet I'm good enough to have you first!" Ross frowned. Dem started to cry in earnest. What will they do when they find out she is a girl? "Sit on that bed!" They looked at each other. They were trapped in a second floor room. These men intended to hurt them. There was a loaded gun in the bureau. Ross was afraid for himself but more afraid for Dem. Dem was a girl. What they intended was bad enough but Dem being female might make them meaner to her once they found out. They stared at each other. She was crying and looked at Ross with an ashen look of doom on her face. What ever happened they would face it and the aftermath together. "I won't leave you..." began Ross. "Shut up! Sit on that bed!" said the man who might have searched them. "I shall win this game and strip search you anyway!" the men laughed as they took seats at the table. The single bare bulb that lit the room was over the table and the bed was in a dimmer side of the room. They looked pleased with themselves. How easy it was to twist their authority and trap two defenseless people and feel themselves invincible. Dem was frightened but she felt anger bubble up in her. "You won't get away with this! You'll punished for this!" Ross looked to Dem with admiration that was short lived for the man that bought them dinner said. "Who's going to know? Do you think we're going to let you walk out of here?" Ross and Dem stared at the men at the table. Their look of disbelief brought another round of laughing. "After we're done you'll be face down in the harbor!" Pierre snickered. "The fishes will nibble you up worse than I'm going to!" This brought more laughter and the saddest look of horror Ross had ever seen on Demelza's face. Dem burst into tears. The men intended to do whatever they wanted and then kill them both. Ross sat at the head of the bed which was grubby and pulled Dem by the wrist to sit next to her. The men would play cards to determine who was first. There was a loaded gun in the bureau. Was that what they meant to use to kill them? Dem buried her face on Ross' shoulder and the men joked that the redhead must have been a choir boy, upset because he'd already been defiled by priests and knew what was coming.

They played cards speaking in French for a time. Then, for the benefit of their hostages, they switched to English and spoke of how Ross and Dem would lose either way. They were two boys that might die or end up in jail if the men felt like it. Nobody to believe them. Their word against the police even if they were bold enough to speak aloud what was about to happen to them. "If you went to prison, you'd wish we had killed you!" said the policeman who bought the lunch. Ross and Dem sat in terror on the bed, listening to the men tell terrible stories about the behavior of the inmates and the guards in prison. They gleefully explained, awful tales about jail as they slapped down their cards and drank. The door opened and the proprietor came in with more liquor. Ross and Dem eyed the door. Pierre laughed. "Look at them! You want to try it don't you! Make a run for it!?" The owner snickered. Ross and Dem, quite at the same time, looked away, looked down. Six grown men stood between them and the door. There was no hope for them. Everyone laughed at them. "The downstairs is ready..." and the proprietor walked back out. The other men would continue playing for order of access in the empty restaurant while the victor enjoyed the spoils this room.

The man who threatened to strip search them won. The established etiquette was the winner was up in the room enjoying the victims and play would continue downstairs for the order in which the rest would partake. Pierre shrugged. He shrugged off the fact that he did not win first dibs. "It's better when they are already greased up anyway..." he said in English for Ross and Dem's benefit as they stomped downstairs. Ross felt Dem shrink in his arms, curl up smaller in fear. The man was going to see she was a girl. These men promised to kill them. They were trapped in this room with all the rest of them downstairs. She hid her face against Ross and he and the man stared at each other. Ross tried to think of every possible way to get the gun out of the drawer without having in wrestled away from him or, God forbid, scrabble for the gun and it go off hitting Dem or himself. It all seems so easy when you play cops and robbers. The bed in relationship to the bureau, the man in relationship to the two of them. 'It's two against one!' thought Ross. Surely he and Dem had the advantage... If they got a chair under the doorknob to slow down the others... Get down the drainpipe... "Why be upset little chicken? Why be afraid? You might even like it!" Ross put his hand to Dem's hair. The wail of despair from her made him want to protect her. Could he? The chips were down. Even escaping would most like not occur without being attacked by this man at the very least. Ross was not in a position to help himself or Dem but he could be her friend. That much he could do however bad it got tonight. He squeezed her tight. A hug. A promise. "I won't leave you Dem... I promise..." said Ross and she did not stop wailing but she squeezed him back. Ross knew she heard him. They would face this trial together. The man took off his shirt with curled tufts of chest hair bristling from his sleeveless undershirt. He grinned. It was extremely unpleasant to see. Ross, still holding a sobbing Demelza, shrank back himself and they both became enveloped in the sharp, stale smell of his body odor as he enjoyed slobbering all over both of them. Ross struggled. Dem was limp and frozen with fear. Each time his hands got near she felt dread and could not command her limbs. It was like being beaten by Pa. At a certain point she shut down, froze. He smacked Ross to stop his squirming and found that the triumph of groping the redhead was rewarded with a rich surprise. He laughed like he'd heard a funny joke. Dem began to slap at his hands with a hiccuping cry of terror. He knew she was a girl now. Ross was pinioned by the man's arm as he began to laugh in Dem's face. He let go of Ross to pull up the men's shirt and laughed at the sight of her chest. She gave a scream, a high pitched scream that could freeze blood and a muffled cheer could be heard from downstairs. Dem's screaming was a victory for them. They might have been cheering a football match to hear them. Ross struggled to pull out from the man and somewhat free gave the man a shove that pushed him off of Dem briefly. The man nearly fell off the bed then got up on his knees and smacked Ross again. Angry and determined to have the prize of a helpless girl he went after Ross as if he might kill him. He pushed his knee in Ross' chest and started ranting at him, promised to teach him a lesson. Dem was shaking from head to foot. She was upset from the man's attack and sobbing. But she saw the same horrible determination in the man's face that Pa often had in his eyes when he wanted to truly harm her. She saw him slapping Ross and Ross trying to prise the man's hands off his neck. He was choking him. Ross stared up at an angry, thick necked man scowling as he yelled about how he would teach Ross a lesson. The desperate need to breathe. Ross felt like the sides of the room were darkening. He couldn't breathe. The more he tried to take a breath and failed the more Ross began to panic. Ross was gasping for breath and trying to pull the man's hands off his neck. Dem was still beneath one of the man's legs but having kneeled to attack Ross she could move more freely. Laying side by side she could see the same gleam of intent in this man's eyes that Dem knew so well from her father's rages. This man was dangerous... Ross was choking and in danger... She could move now... There was a gun in the bureau... Dem launched herself off the bed and flung herself at the chest of drawers. The man turned to see and released his grip. This most likely saved Ross from going unconscious. Ross gasped a deep ragged breath as much out of relief to be able to breath as the need for air. The man turned, believing the daft cow would run for the door, a fruitless exercise for even if the door was unlocked the others would catch her before she even reached the bottom of the stairwell. This misdirection was fortunate. He turned, knee still pressed on a gasping Ross to see Demelza Carne. The man saw a wild eyed, redheaded girl, hair askew, streaks of violent blush, nearing to bruising on the skin of her neck where they had struggled, visible from the unbuttoned collar of a man's shirt, pointing a pistol at him. He laughed the same laugh as earlier. As if he had been told the funniest joke in the world. "You silly bitch! You wouldn't..." It is not like it is shown on television. It is not like how it is in the films. Even decades later, in the dead of night, the children fast asleep in their beds, Ross' steady snore beside her like a metronome, Dem would think, 'Did it go off by accident?' The answer was always the same. 'No.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paint It Black, The Rolling Stones 1966
> 
> I see a red door and I want it painted black  
> No colors anymore, I want them to turn black  
> I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes  
> I have to turn my head until my darkness goes  
> I see a line of cars and they're all painted black  
> With flowers and my love, both never to come back  
> I see people turn their heads and quickly look away  
> Like a new born baby, it just happens every day  
> I look inside myself and see my heart is black  
> I see my red door, I must have it painted black  
> Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts  
> It's not easy facing up, when your whole world is black  
> No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue  
> I could not foresee this thing happening to you  
> If I look hard enough into the settin' sun  
> My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes  
> I see a red door and I want it painted black  
> No colors anymore, I want them to turn black  
> I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes  
> I have to turn my head until my darkness goes  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> I wanna see it painted, painted black  
> Black as night, black as coal  
> I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky  
> I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black  
> Yeah  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm  
> Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm


	30. Police On My Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trauma

His eyes bulged. Blood appeared like a conjurer flashing red silk scarves from thin air. "Ahhh... Ahhh..." He weaved on his knees and recoiled as Dem fired again. Ross rolled off the bed and scrambled to his feet. He was lightheaded from the attack but two gunshots would have the rest of them up here soon. The urgency moved him. Dem stood shaking, holding the pistol and shaking as Ross rushed to pull one of the chairs from the table and wedged it at the door. He pulled Dem by her upper arms to help her walk. "Dem! Come on Dem! Out the window!" She felt like she was moving in slow motion, moving through thickened air that wasn't real or a dream that was difficult to wake up from. The man had fallen off the bed to the floor. The sound of his head hitting the floor was ghastly, sounded like a mistakenly dropped piece of wood. A horrible wheezing, gurgling noise was coming from his throat and his second wound at each breath and Dem found it hard to move even as Ross demanded it of her. "Come on Dem!" He dragged her bodily to the window and she stumbled along with Ross, gripping the pistol to keep hold of it as her whole body shook. She could hear noise beyond the room and a fresh wave of panic came over her. _The men were coming up the stairs_. She started keening again. Ross struggled to bring Dem to the window. She was shaking like a leaf, stumbling next to him and beginning to shriek again. They had to hurry. The men were coming up the stairs. "Dem! Go down the drainpipe, Sweetness! It's the only way out!" Dem blinked herself into the present. Ross calling her Sweetness had broken through her fugue. She shook her head as if to clear it and put her leg over the windowsill. Ross held her under her shoulders until she was properly outside and got Dem over the side. He let go and even though she was shaking from adrenaline and fright and holding a gun, Dem shimmied down the drainpipe. The men were beating on the door, kicking it, trying to force it open. The chair held but it was only a matter of time before they got the door open. Ross doubled back to knock the other chairs over and shove the table closer to the entrance, that they be scattered in the way if the men got the door open and he followed Dem out the window. The pistol fell to the cobbles but did not go off. Dem and Ross got down the drainpipe. Ross picked up the gun and ran to the tavern door. It was locked. Ross stepped back, scrunched his eyes nearly shut and shot the door at the lock. Ross hurried to push open the door and with a shiver of split second thought, took the guitar and left the their bag of extra clothes. Ross could not risk taking both because he still had to hold the gun and he could hear them coming back down the stairs. It had just been clothes. There was nothing to identify them in the bag, it had to be sacrificed if they were to escape. The guitar was Ross' breadwinner and had his name in the case. That was more important. He bolted from the tavern and ran up the street with the gun in one hand and the guitar case handle in the other where Dem was waiting, a nervous silhouette at the wan edge of a streetlamp's light. "Come on!" Ross handed her the gun, grabbed Dem's other hand and they escaped into the night.

The candles flickered. The light hovered on the glass plates, plates long emptied of dessert. It shone in their eyes as Hugh, Dwight and Lord Falmouth stared, not at the Poldarks but at Caroline. How could she have known this and not informed them? She raised her chin with a calm, defiant pride. 'A promise is a promise. It was not my story to tell...' she as near said aloud. They looked to the Poldarks who seemed to deflate after recounting their hellish time in Marseilles. They looked so young now. Right now, sitting here among them looking so young in this beautiful villa. How much younger must they have looked as they shot their way out of a vicious, sadistic harassment and premeditated attack upon them when they were only fourteen and fifteen? Lord Falmouth was white as a sheet. The horrible story was as bad as some of the nastier tales he'd heard during the war. This had only been three years ago! Hugh watched the Poldarks in the candlelight. They looked ashamed. "Ross? Dem? Why would you believe we would think ill of you?! You both were victimized!" Dem sniffed. "I shot somebody..." Ross sniffed. "We were too easy to trap, we were stupid, they could see that we were stupid..." Hugh took a breath to speak once more but Caroline raised her hand to halt him. "Hugh, there is nothing you can say that they haven't already heard from me." And her voice was very kind, for Hugh's sake, to spare more talk; for the Poldarks sake, to bring the night to its end and let the Poldarks recover from their traumatic recounting of the shocking story. Hugh nodded but said, "We could _never_ find fault in you two, for what happened. You were badly abused and brave on top of it!" Dwight and Hugh's uncle nodded agreement. Ross held Dem's hand and said, simply, "Sometimes it isn't bravery, Hugh.” Ross said quietly. “Sometimes it just is how things go..." Hugh and his uncle both took the unorthodox step of hugging Ross and Dem upon leaving the Enyses' villa. A form of physical affection neither man would have indulged in previous to this. Dwight also hugged the Poldarks and felt that it helped. They were both thin and tall and felt warm to hold. Felt frightened. Dwight could feel their hearts beating like a bird trying to escape a cage. He could feel Ross' heart slow as Dwight gave him a protective squeeze, an embrace that was strange for Dwight; he was not in the habit of hugging people other than Caroline or his female relatives, but very necessary, for him. For Dem. For Ross. Words weren't enough. He and Ross stepped apart and Dwight hugged Dem. A odd need to compare the fuller shape of his wife, so often in his arms and this slender slip of a girl. All arms and legs and frightened heartbeats. Dwight lay his cheek near her ear and Dem lay her eyes against his neck. There were many different therapies, many different kinds of medicine. Few were as potent and showed such immediate efficacy as a well meant hug. He looked to Caroline who was already serving as a mother hen to Ross, looking at him fondly and explaining that she would sit up with them both herself, tonight. And Ross' look of gratitude over her careful handling of them.

Caroline saw them off to bed and sat with them for a time. They were weepy and tired but found it hard to sleep having revisited their harrowing experience. Caroline let them tend each other and stayed near so they knew they could sleep in truth instead of the knee-jerk reaction within them to sleep in shifts like the old days. After a fitful beginning they fell asleep. Caroline lay on a chaise nearby. She thought of these gentle, sensitive people, so artistic, caring, generous and loving. That people seemed to crave the opportunity to hurt them. Enjoying trying to injure them and wrest away their happiness. It was so horrible. George Warleggan was the most recent example but the cruelty of the Marseilles police, the untroubled launching of such a scheme, the enjoyment in tricking them, in scaring them. They enjoyment of believing themselves untouchable. How many other young people had been the terrified playthings of these men. Did they kill the others? Was it just said to stoke fear? Caroline shivered. Her pampered life was not so sheltered that the tale was a total surprise. Some of the girls she met at school had tales of their own just as lurid if they felt safe enough and drunk enough to let slip. Life was ever full of horrible villains. The effortless arrangement of it was truly shocking. Caroline was shocked by that. The paint by the numbers way they lured Ross and Dem into their lair. Proof that the pastime was well established. Proof that those men, to some degree, were correct. They could rob, rape and even kill with impunity. The ease with which they put the plans into action was proof. She poured a glass of mineral water, as she sipped it she smiled. She'd served food at her own meal to others, platters hand to hand, like a warm, loving family in the happy simplicity of enjoying each other's company. She had eaten raspberries and cream with her fingers, outside, on a sun soaked summer's day. She stole kisses from Dwight like two lovesick kids might for she had a fine example ever in front of her this summer. The Poldarks had a very rich life with love at its center. Love for each other, their animals, their dream of the folly and for friendship when there were be friends to be found. Caroline felt, in the wake of such appalling mistreatment, the Poldarks would have every right not to trust _anyone_. Yet they opened their hearts almost at once to three strangers bearing chocolate biscuits and a red plastic pail... They were sleeping now. Hugh was determined to keep George Warleggan from buying the land. She knew he intended to broach the subject with Count Schön before their dinner at the castle. She hoped a plan could be arranged so the Poldarks could be assured that not every bully wins. This vacation had brought a great deal of joy to them all. Caroline hoped for a resolution so she could return to England knowing the Poldarks would be alright. Lord Falmouth mentioned that Ross did have a home to return to in Cornwall, if they chose to avail themselves of it. Maybe everything would bloom anew for the Poldarks. If anyone deserved "happily ever after" of a certainty, Ross and Dem did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Police On My Back, The Clash 1980
> 
> Well, I'm running  
> Police on my back  
> I've been hiding  
> Police on my back  
> There was a shooting  
> Police on my back  
> And the victim  
> Well, he won't come back  
> I been running Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> Runnin' Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> What have I done?  
> What have I done?  
> Yes, I'm running  
> Down the railway track  
> Could you help me?  
> Police on my back  
> They will catch me  
> If I dare drop back  
> Won't you give me  
> All the speed I lack?  
> I been running Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> Runnin' Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> What have I done?  
> What have I done?  
> Yes, I'm running  
> I am running  
> I'm running  
> Yes, I'm running  
> Down the railway track  
> Could you help me?  
> Police on my back  
> They will catch me  
> If I dare drop back  
> Won't you help me  
> Find the speed I lack?  
> I been running Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> Runnin' Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday  
> Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday  
> What have I done?  
> What have I done?  
> And I'm running  
> Police on my back  
> Hiding  
> Police on my back  
> Running  
> Police on my back  
> Hiding  
> Police on my back  
> Running  
> Down the railway track  
> Could you help me?  
> Police on my back  
> They will catch me  
> If I dare drop back  
> So you'll give me  
> All the speed I lack?  
> I've been running  
> I've been running


	31. Midnight Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homeless

They threw the gun in the water of the harbor. Away from the bustle of the men loading and emptying ships, careful not to be seen. Ross flung it away as far as he could and then they ran. Ran and ran and ran, into the night. Ross and Dem had a singular determination to leave Marseilles and never return. The sight of a kid with a guitar case and his pal hurrying through the streets caught the eyes and brief attention of many that night but no one challenged or stopped them. In the early hours of the morning they stopped and went to sleep in a dense, wooded area outside of the main town. "We must go to Paris, Dem!" said Ross in a daze. The lay, almost flat on the forest floor, bruising on Ross' neck showed in dim purple shadowy fingermarks. Red marks were still visible at Dem's collarbone and neck. She lost the trilby hat in their flight. Still in a fog of horror over shooting the gun. Not quite believing they had gotten themselves free. Scared that someone would suddenly drag them away by the scruff of the neck and charge them with murder. "We must go to a place so big we won't be found!"  
Ross and Dem did get to Paris. They hitched rides on the backs of trucks, they walked and walked. Along the way they slept rough in every conceivable place, under park benches, doorways in the backs of buildings, under bridges and tucked away places that most people would avoid. One night after a man menaced them, whispered foul suggestions, tried to touch them, having run to escape him it was then that Ross and Dem learned to sleep in shifts. They learned to keep watch and split the night in two. One up, one down and vise versa. Their clothes began to smell not of their own urine but that of the dogs and other vagrants that soiled these hiding places before them. Their terror of being taken away to jail; the fear that their claim of self defense would be disregarded, -the police stole all their money lured them into a tavern under false pretenses, terrorized them with threats as they played at cards to see who could have at them first and intended to murder them afterwards. Who would believe them? Wouldn't the flic just lie? Tell everyone two horrible street rats were criminals who shot a policeman?- made the discomfort of the places they hid in seem necessary. They must not be found. Who would believe two stowaways who already broke the law to come to France? They refused to be separated from each other or the guitar, the only possession they had left. Ross had intended to busk but his hands shook too much to play well. A string broke and they had no way to replace it. Dem carried on as if in a trance. Ross was not much better but he looked after her with concern. He very often had to direct her. He had to rouse her out of her own mind's fog to stand, to walk, to eat what little they could find for themselves. Ross and Dem were frightened and distrustful of other young kids in the street. At this early point in their life in Paris they were so scared to be caught after the shooting they trusted no one. Accepting aid, advice or even watching other kids to glean how to survive was beyond them. They hid in sour, dirty hiding spots in daylight hours and skulked around in the dark of night. Ross scavenged what he could that was edible from the back doors and trashbins of restaurants and shared it with Dem who sat waiting like a mournful doll, clutching the guitar case which was also taking on the smell of the unwashed, grotty places they hid in on the street. Dem had nightmares and often jolted Ross' attention from his night's watch from waking in fear. He would risk moving the guitar case from between them and hold her firmly. "It's a dream, Dem! You were having a dream Sweetness... You are alright..." They both were ceasing to be alright. September was mild and warm, a slight chill in the nighttime hours. October became sharply cold at night and it rained a great deal of the time. Ross and Dem were turned away from the cafes. They were too unkempt to find shelter indoors. For the sake of the guitar they spent whole days underneath a bridge to stay dry. They had no coats and bore the cold by huddling together for warmth. They were waylaid under a stone arch and days passed. Grey days where Paris looked as grey as the stones and cobbles around them. The rain stayed off the guitar case but Ross and Demelza were damp and miserable. At close quarters and no way to wash they both became lousy. Dem looked at Ross' hair and sighed. "You have crawlers, Ross..." Ross frowned. "What? What do you mean?" Dem lay her head on his shoulder. If he had them than she surely must. "Look in my hair, are there bugs in it?" Ross turned to look and recoiled sharply, wide eyes. "Oh! I have them too?!" Dem sat back up. The rain still fell in steady sheets, blowing past and bringing a grey air of melancholy. "Yes. Crawlers... I haven't had them for a couple of years. You never had crawlers before?" Ross shook his head. "How do we get rid of them?" asked Ross disturbed by this new problem. Dem sighed. "With out being able to wash I don't think we can get rid of them." Ross stared out at the rain. It was slowing down and becoming less heavy. It was only a matter of time before it started up again. They were cold, damp, hungry, on the run from shooting a policeman and now had lice. The guitar was missing a string and the rain had been pinning them in place under a bridge for days. Ross was tired, fearful and hungry but he also felt fed up. "The rain is letting up. We have to find a building to stay in..." Dem looked at him surprised. "No one will have us as we are..." Ross stood, determined not to be out of doors went the rain came back. "We just need to find a place that is empty. A place where we can stay out of the rain. An attic or something. A place people wouldn't be in. Just to get out of the rain..." Dem agreed and they left the shelter of the bridge to look for a prospective place to stay out of the rain.

It seemed that the best way to find a temporary shelter in a crawlspace or an attic was to see from the street which places looked unlit and then climb to the rooftops to investigate further. The guitar case was bulky and there was the danger of dropping it or slipping and falling but the rumble of thunder in the distance made trying important. Ross was determined to, at the very least, lay someplace dry on this night after so many days and nights in the rain. They came away from the main streets and down back alleys. Dem saw a drainpipe with metal collars attaching it to the wall at even intervals that looked like good foot holds. Ross went up first. It took him a longer time to climb than it would for Dem because he had the guitar case to bring up with him. He disappeared over the side of the roof with a nerve racking banging of the case on the edge. A hollow sounding reverberation, like a gong, could be heard from the guitar upon impact. Dem scrambled up after him and they picked their way along the rooftops to find the darkened room they spied from the street. There were not many houses on this street. There were stores and their storage higher up. If people were gone for the night, Ross felt they could stay out of the rain and then leave in the early morning. On its face it was not a wise plan. Ross and Dem were looking to break into a building. They might find another vagrant who might take umbrage at someone else on their pitch. They might stumble into a place with a night watchman. There might be someone to call the police. Ross and Dem did not think through those possibilities. They just wanted to get out of the rain. Dem felt the first drops of rain beginning. She hurried forward and found a slanted skylight. "Ross! I think it's this one!" She whispered. Ross came alongside and they looked down into the darkness below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midnight Rider, The Allman Brothers Band 1970
> 
> Well, I've got to run to keep from hiding  
> And I'm bound to keep on riding  
> And I've got one more silver dollar  
> But I'm not gon' let 'em catch me, no  
> Not gon' let 'em catch the midnight rider  
> And I don't own the clothes I'm wearing  
> And the road goes on forever  
> And I've got one more silver dollar  
> But I'm not gon' let 'em catch me, no  
> Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider  
> And I've gone by the point of caring  
> Some old bed I'll soon be sharing  
> And I've got one more silver dollar  
> But I'm not gon' let 'em catch me, no  
> Not gon' let 'em catch the midnight rider  
> No, I'm not gon' let 'em catch me, no  
> Not gon' let 'em catch the midnight rider  
> No, I'm not gon' let 'em catch me, no  
> I'm not gon' let 'em catch the midnight rider  
> But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no  
> Not gon' let 'em catch the midnight rider


	32. Moonlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawlers

Dem looked down into the space beneath the skylight. Ross dragged his guitar case up by pulling at the neck and after a tense few seconds, watching it teeter on the rim of the panes of the skylight, breathed a sigh of relief that it would not slide backwards. There was a gloomy darkness below but it seemed dry and disused. She raised an eyebrow. "I think we can get in... Maybe it's a storage room...?" Ross peered at the dark forms below. It seemed abandoned. "It'll keep us out of the rain in any case..." They steadied the guitar and Dem pried up the half of the window, at its hinge, that opened into the room. Out of caution, Ross crawled down first. There was about eight feet to fall since the roof was sloped, lower at the corner of the room. Ross scrambled at the edge of the pane to try and control his fall but dropped with an unceremonial plop to the floor. "Ow!" Ross flailed about to sit upright. "Are you alright!?" Dem peered down over Ross' dark form on the dark floor. Ross escaped the fall with only a wack to the funny bone in his arm. "I'm O.K., Dem..." winced Ross. "I hit my elbow but I'm alright!" Dem let the guitar case dangle in by holding the neck. He stood and pulled the bottom of the guitar case in. She could see Ross set it on the floor and look up at her. "Try to hold the edge and I'll grab you, Dem!" With the help of her long fingers, Dem dangled from the edge of the skylight frame and Ross put his arms around her legs. She let go and Ross let her slide down, into his arms, onto the floor. They felt the first drops of rain falling through the opening. They pattered on the floor. Ross looked about the dark room and found the iron rod that was used from the inside to open and close the skylight. With a squeaky, metallic clang, the window was closed. Ross and Dem breathed a sigh of relief as the rain got heavier, glazing the glass panes in a flowing stream, lit by a lightning flash. They had only just turned about to see their surroundings in the dark when a lamp turned on elsewhere. "Who's there?! Qui êtes vous?!" An older man, dark haired with a bit of grey at the temples came to stand at the short series of steps that led to where they were standing. Blue eyes that looked stern and serious, but not angry. Ross and Dem stood mouths agape, realizing this place wasn't abandoned for all its disorganization. They had broken into this man's studio. The man came closer. He let a foot rest on the steps and wrinkled his nose. "Ah! Les petits chats..." Two street urchins and worse for wear from it. A haze of odor, a hint of stale urine, dirt and damp emanated from them their exertions to get into the room. Their clothes were so dirty they could likely stand up by themselves. He frowned, leaned closer and glowered at the edge of Ross' scalp. He looked at Dem. They were lousy as well. They looked timid, not the cheeky, mouthy sort of wisecrackers one often saw in the Paris streets, old hands at stealing and making a nuisance of themselves, they did not seem hardened. These two were thin and bedraggled with a guitar case as smelly as they were at their feet. Brothers? Friends perhaps.The red headed one did not resemble the dark haired one. A lightning clap made them jump. Ross and Dem were too scared to speak. Whether this man was friend or foe was unknown. What they did know was there was no way out. They could not reach the skylight and whatever door led out was controlled by this person. Would he hurt them? They could tell he called them 'little cats', a bit more sentimental that calling them rats. Dem risked talking, he spoke accented English before he switched to French. "We're sorry, sir..." she began. Ross nodded. "We were trying to get out of the rain..." said Ross. Dem nodded earnestly saying, "We did not think anyone was in here..." He looked amused. "You are English?" They nodded. He frowned again. He had a tidy studio for all it looked scattershot. He would not put them out in the rain but he couldn't have kids this dirty in his studio. "It is raining too heavy to put you out. You two can stay the night but you have to be clean, I can't have dirty people in my studio!" Ross and Dem shook a little. He spoke again, believing Dem to be a boy. "Come on, you need to be clean! I don't have time to waste over you! You must wash yourselves. Take off those clothes, they stink!" Dem's mouth fell open and Ross stood, quickly, in front of her. They looked terrified. The man looked at them. The penny dropped. A man standing over them, demanding they strip off... He sighed, what had them spooked was easy to guess, poor beggars. He took a step forward and they both backed up, away from him. He smiled, stepped back down from the steps. "Look, we've had a bad beginning..." He disappeared into the other, larger room and then returned with two paint splattered drop cloths, grey and speckled with blots of colors. "I will not hurt you, but you have to be clean. You can put these round you for now. I don't bite..." He walked off. They could hear water running and Ross and Dem looked to each other. Discovering Dem's gender might cause a problem. Being young and unable to leave might be a problem. But the man seemed to acknowledge their distress and they were out of the rain and, truth be told, they were very grubby. He called out, "You come here when you are ready, I am not a peeper! Bring the clothes with you..." Ross and Dem removed their jeans, so stiff with dirt and their shirts becoming thin and threadbare from constantly having them on. Dem wore boys underwear. They were both so skinny they always shared the same underwear packet 50/50. Their socks resisted and had to be practically peeled off being so damp. With their shoes in hand they came to stand by the man, who had been busy filling tubs with hot water. Ross and Demelza were wrapped in the drop cloths for modesty, each holding an armful of clothes. "Verdomme!" sniffed the man over steaming water in two metal washtubs. Grey metal tubs that were squat and round, meant for clothes not people. "You two have been helped by those clothes," he chuckled. "With them off, the smell would scare off the devil!" He meant it lightly but the kids were demoralized. He could see, even as they were swathed in the drop cloths, they were too thin and homeless. They couldn't help being unwashed. They couldn't help being embarrassed over it either. Ross and Dem looked down glumly. They each felt they had let the other down in their low state. The man looked at them in a sympathetic way. He sighed. "I did not mean it badly... I am used to having no one to please but myself..." He went to the corner of the room and brought over a folding screen. He set it between them and his side of the room. "Wash yourselves as best you can and don't put those clothes back on. I will find you something clean to wear. You will have to let me wash your heads, though. You two have luizen, bad..." He brought over a third, empty tub and put it on the floor by the screen. "Put your clothes in this. The cloths too." He went to the other side of the room. He banged things about, rummaged through things loudly. Doing it to let the kids know that he was keeping clear of them as they washed. Keeping to the other side of the room. They heard him come near again. "You can wear these..." Two thick, crepe kimonos, in bright colors, flapped over the side of the screen, then two towels, and the man went back to making obvious noises on the other side of the room. Ross raised an eyebrow and Dem nodded. They each knelt in a washtub and began to scrub with the rag submerged in the water. They could not sit in them, the tubs weren't big enough around. They could squat in them though and slowly they washed themselves clean. The water discolored. It sloshed on the floor, that was unavoidable. "Turn your back to me..." whispered Dem. Ross did so and she scrubbed his back. Ross did the same for her, he washed her back and she nodded her thanks. They felt better. The soap they were given was not meant for bathing. It was meant to get oil and paint off of one's hands. The grainy pumice mixed in it was useful anyway for it helped slough off the grime on them. Ross pulled down a towel and passed it to Dem. He took one for himself and they dried off. Now they could feel (and smell) the difference between their clean bodies and their dirty hair. The smell of the clothing was more noticeable as well and the water in both tubs looked dreadful. It was dark from their dirt and had a sullen, milky tinge from the soap. Dem took down the kimonos laying over the screen and handed one to Ross. They wrapped up, modestly, in the colorful robes, peered around the screen. The man leaned against the edge of a deep sink with his arms folded and smiled a crooked sort of half smile. The two boys looked, timidly, around the sides of the screen like birds popping out of a cuckoo clock. "Come on then..." They ventured out and padded towards the sink. They looked young even though they were tall kids. They looked a growth spurt away, or two, from an adult height. "Thank you..." said the dark haired one, quietly. The redhead... "You are a boy?" Asked the man. Dem looked to Ross, nervously. She shook her head, 'no'. He sighed and looked at them both kindly. "Don't fear me... I shall wash your hair and I am sure there is soup about the place." In later years, both Ross and Dem would come to find comfort in a specific sort of smell. A mixture of linseed oil, turpentine, pigments and chalk, bound in a scent of damp drains and wooden floors. Old silk, old books, new magazines and their sharp smell of ink. Paper. Pigments. Canvas. Paint. Ink. Sooty charcoal. When ever they had cause to visit a artist's studio a sense of safety came over them. Brose washed Dem's and then Ross' hair clean in the slop sink, speckled with paint. He was firm, determined that they not be lice ridden, but gentle with them both and clucked a patter of quiet commentary, half to himself that was calming to hear. Ross and Dem felt the sensation of what it might have been like to be infant small and not understand grown up talk but be lulled into a sense of calm from it. Brose frowned over both of them then went to retrieve a tin can, having inspected and rejected a few before settling for a empty Maggi can. He poured about a half inch of turpentine in the bottom of it and, with great care, painted it neat upon live bugs he could see on their scalps. He used a tiny brush and was careful not to let it drip by keeping a bunched up rag at their head, blotting while he worked. He was as determined for the sake of it not getting on the kimonos as much as the safety of their eyes or ears not to drip. Then he made them bend their heads over the sink, one at a time, and washed their hair. He murmured pleasant nothingness in Dutch over them as he washed his charges scalps clean. Scrubbing firmly and methodically as the foam of the suds lifted dead and still living lice up and let him rinse and repeat until he was certain he'd gotten them out. Satisfied that they were now better off, even as he used washing up liquid; he had no shampoo, he then tasked them, in English, with combing the nits out of each other's hair while he collected mugs, intending to heat up a can of soup on a hot plate. Ross sat crossed legged on the floor, letting Dem work at his scalp. He blinked up at the man puttering about with a drawer full of things, trying to find a can opener. The man smiled at both of them. Thunder sounded once more on a dark, rainy night. Lightning flashed at the curtained windows along the wall and the skylight beyond. A white cat crept towards them and rubbed against both the boy and the girl. "Mimi likes you..." said the man as if he was surprised that this should be so. They smiled up at him. Two skinny kids, the red headed girl in green patterned with pink plum blossoms, the dark haired boy in purple and dark green fir branches with acid orange fans trailing gilt tassels. Bony knees and little wrists peeking out of the kimonos, both of them petting the cat who seemed to consider this attention her just due. Attractive children, both of them. Mimi settled on a cushion, in a straw peacock chair, and watched them intently. A tea kettle started to whistle. They changed places after Brose, who had yet to exchange names with them, poured boiling water from a kettle on the comb over the sink and gave it back. Dem had her turn. The man sat on a nearby sofa drawing in a book as Ross worked. When they had done, Ross and Dem bowed their heads for inspection. The man looked them over carefully. He poured hot water over the comb again and worked over both their heads again. They sat side by side on the floor as he remained on the sofa. He pulled hair away from their ears, turned their heads this way and that, but not harshly. He looked them over and gave a satisfied grunt in the back of his throat. "Now you are civilized once more..." He looked between them. He had greying hair in his eyebrows too and they were a bit wild. Longer white hairs jutted from random places in his eyebrows like whiskers on a rabbit. His forehead was lined with wrinkles, as were the corners of his eyes. They were staring to take hold at his mouth and he was quite pale. He looked very much like a wizard in a picture book and his smile was warm. They smiled back. He acknowledged they had been in dire straits rather than believing them to be unclean people. "Thank you." They said, earnestly. He watched them blink up at him. The girl had a changling quality of looking somewhat boyish in different lights. One could see her femininity too. The boy was handsome. Brose nodded at them. "I'll not ask, but what ever had you scared, shall not happen here." They looked at each other, stricken. He sighed. "Truly. There is soup. Come to the table." He stood and crossed the room and they followed, sat down. He warmed beef broth in a handled pot on a hot plate and poured it between two mugs. While they drank it he contrived a bed for them from the mattress he often had models pose upon. "I don't have proper sheets but this tarp is clean, at least..." Ross and Dem, careful to keep the kimonos wrapped around them, lay on the mattress and settled down under a thick beige cloth that had a sharp smell like a jute rug but was not unpleasant. "Thank you, sir." They said in unison. "Do sleep, children. I was going home but I shall remain here tonight. No one will hurt you. I promise." Ross looked at Dem in the bluish dim under the dark skylight. She nodded. They curled closer together, Ross put his arm around her and they lay close. Such was their friendship. They cared for each other, needed to feel safe. It felt safe, the feeling of closeness in old silk, and new tarps, clean skin and a full belly of broth. They snuggled together. "I'll take first watch..." whispered Dem. Ross nodded his agreement. It was their intention to trade watch, Dem up first and Ross guarding into the morning hours but washed clean, warmed and sated from a hot drink of broth, lying on an actual mattress near a friend under a warm, thick cloth and old silk robes, they both fell asleep rather quickly. Mimi yawned and curled herself near Dem over the tarp. Brose smiled. Their night's watch had disintegrated but they were safe here... He lay on the sofa for a makeshift bed and chuckled to himself. He plumped a pillow a bit too small for his head and then laid down. He yawned, chuckled to himself. 'What have I gotten myself into?' he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moonlife, Dali's Car 1984
> 
> What guides me through this moonlife  
> Open your closed door, open your closed door  
> Tell me of the child you see, you're the one to dare  
> Tell me of the child you see, teach me to prepare  
> Midnight, all around eyes closed, the soldiers fighting  
> A mother's crying  
> Got to work it out come tomorrow, we should be prepared  
> Got to work it out come the sorrow, we should be prepared  
> Another matter of objective, another road to the truth  
> Waiting for an answer from you, you're the one to dare  
> You're the one to dare  
> Working hard to find the answer, teach me to prepare  
> What guides me through this moonlife  
> Guards all the closed doors, guards all closed doors  
> Watches over you and me, 'til we are prepared  
> Watches over you and me, we should be prepared  
> The moon, the sun's eyes closed, reflections ...  
> Reflections [looming]  
> Did you turn away for tomorrow, we should be prepared  
> Got to work it out come tomorrow, we should be prepared  
> Take emotions, or objectives, all roads to the truth  
> Waiting for an answer from you, you're the one to dare  
> You're the one to dare  
> Working hard to find the answer, teach me to prepare
> 
> Verdomme: damn me
> 
> Luizen: lice
> 
> Maggi: a savory liquid that is used in cooking as a flavor enhancement and substitute for meat broth. They also make them in foil wrapped bouillon cubes
> 
> Neat: undiluted
> 
> This is set in the 1960s with an older Dutch man in a room full of paint solvents. Do not use turpentine as a lice treatment. People did used to do that (and gasoline :o) but it's not safe.


	33. Ondine (Gaspard de la Nuit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les petits chats

It had stopped raining but the light, filtered through the skylight, was still smudgy and grey. Dem woke, curled in Ross' arms and felt his breath at the back of her neck as he snored, gently. Mimi walked up to her, stared with her green eyes and nudged her face forward to poke Dem's nose with her own. Two green eyed girls at close range. This made Demelza giggle and woke Ross. "Good morning Sweetness," he murmured with an extra squeeze to his hug. "Good morning, Ross," They were warm and clean. They smelled of grainy, powdery soap and the fabric around them with the faint scent of turpentine and perfumed washing up liquid in their hair. They had a good night's sleep and could see, at close quarters in their drowsy state, that each other's bruising from Marseilles was fading. The grey day, slate grey light through the windows of the skylight. Their nearness, their legs in a gentle tangle. Ross' arm around her, Dem's hand holding one of his was calming and loving and nice. The odd shaped silhouettes of the night made more sense now. Stretched canvases leaning on walls, jumbled piles of cloth, a trunk of costumes and props sitting out in randomness like a magpie's attic. The cat stomped over some of Dem's hair on the mattress to poke around Ross who smiled up at her and let go of Dem to stroke her fur. Satisfied with this, she walked off elsewhere. They heard her leap the four steps and land in the other room. Dem turned to face Ross and they snuggled down again, in this warm little nest and drowsed once more. Ross tucked his head under Dem's chin, having his own turn to lay in Dem's arms and enjoy the warmth of the tarp over them and the nubbled texture of the silk kimonos, just barely open and letting different points of their skin touch. Brose crept near and checked on them. The boy was curled up in the girl's arms the tarp only just showing the top of his head under her chin. The girl's red hair framing them both and a gentle snore from her for her lips were parted, tucked up under the tarp in an embrace and sleeping. Rather than being cute or charming, their host found it upsetting. He often rolled his eyes at or ignored the street kids that went about the city, running the streets like dogs. At close quarters these two looked vulnerable. The girl had faint marks on her neck. 'They must have been robbed... To be wandering about, only the clothes they wore on their back between them and a guitar... Of course the girl wasn't foolish. She was dressing like a boy for safety... What safety to be had...They are good looking... That's dangerous for them both... Where are their parents...?' He tiptoed away. As spartan as the tarp and a plain mattress were, it was the most comfort they'd have had in an age by the state of them last night. Let them rest.

He brought their clothes to the laundrette. He bought a pint of milk and cocoa powder. He bought three croissants, jam enough for the three of them in a small jar and began his return to the studio. Leaving two street kids in his studio was chancy. He might return to find anything of value vanished and the kids gone. But, even if they were thieves, thought Brose, they had no clothes and could not make off with anything. They both seemed too gentle to be the sort of petty thieves and rabble he assumed all street rats were. He had a think. The artist supply shops were not open yet but the stationery by the metro stop was. Brose added two, black bound sketchbooks and a packet of pencils to his strange assortment of errands. He would have to get more dishes, plates and things. He did not put much thought into the fact that he had committed to adopting these petite chats. He would not have them come to his house but he'd resolved to let them stay in his studio. They couldn't go around as they were...

They woke once more but were slow to move. They each were shy and little greedy too, to lay on this mattress with their kimono robes slithering to the side. A pleasant conspiracy between them to snuggle, quite nude, under the tarp. Having showered in a communal room with women older than them, of all types, being naked became very commonplace for them. Ross learned not to be shy as the only male in the women's dorm. He and Dem both were used to seeing each other's body unclothed. They were not at all used to laying so near with no clothes between them. It was nice. They lay still wanting the closeness while trying to be casual about it. Both understanding the other felt the same frisson of excitement and shyness in it. Not their fault, of course. The robes moved aside of their own accord. Ross' cock nudged Dem's thigh much as Mimi had pushed at her nose. Dem's breasts pressed against Ross' chest. They were warm and each other's body felt soft, soft skin over a network of bones. Their smiles were quite bashful. To move would accentuate the fact that neither wanted to move. They liked it. A secret. The mattress was clean but smelt of dust. The tarp was clean but had a strong, sharp smell of its fibers. They were clean and, at the moment, dry, safe and had the benefit of a full nights sleep without being harmed by the man who washed them, fed them hot broth and wrapped them in old silk kimonos. A pause from their despair and fear. Well rested in the arms of a trusted friend. Dem looked at Ross, tired shadows under his eyes and still haunted by Marseilles, still able to smile. This boy who came out of nowhere and enticed her away with a sense of honor. He kept his promise, over and over. Even if the worst had befallen them he swore to remain by her side. She placed a gentle kiss on Ross' forehead. Blameless and chaste. 'Thank you, Ross' said the kiss. Ross smiled. A secret. A warm embrace. A friend. Dem saved his life. She was scared and still leapt to retrieve a weapon she did not truly know how to use and stopped the man hurting him. His hero. He kissed her forehead back. 'Thank you, Sweetness' said the kiss. They lay still for a few minutes more, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. There had been so much terror in digesting their ordeal there had not been space to consider how they did triumph in a way. Between her bold defense and his ideas, scaling the drainpipe, barring the way with chairs, moving the table to slow the men's access to the room. Together, scared stiff, they made their escape. They were a team... They jolted to hear the door open. They became nervous and startled in a sudden burst and then tried to calm themselves. The man was coming back in from outside. The man had been nice to them. Their hearts were beating too quickly but Ross and Dem began to relax. "Goedemorgen! The water closet is over by the sink..." The man's voice was cheerful and seemed to anticipate that they were awake and in need. This was true. Ross and Dem carefully wrapped the kimonos, to cover up and got up. They came down the four steps that led to the larger space. Ross, being a gentleman, let Dem enter the tiny closet that held only a toilet to the left of the slop sink. The door was swollen, from the paint of various years, thickened in spots. Dem had to tug at it to close properly and it was unnecessary to hook the small latch over the doorknob. It shut firmly. Ross looked to their host. An older man, greying hair by his ears, an amused look in his eyes that were quite blue framed by bushy eyebrows. A strong nose and the hint of craggy lines beginning to take hold around his mouth. His shirt was light blue, you had to squint to see that it was not white. The sleeves were rolled up and his dark blue trousers buttoned up like a sailor would wear. He was slender for his age. Brose watched Ross watching him. The boy looked like an angel. 'Oh to have my youth again...' Thought Brose. "Good morning, young man..." The toilet flushed. Introductions would wait. Dem came out and she and Ross traded places. "Hello..." she said, timid and very cute. That which looked boyish in her had vanished. "Good morning, demoiselle. There is no icebox, but I have some milk for you both. Your clothes are clean..." He gestured to the pile of clothes on a nearby chair. "Thank you!" And the gratitude in her voice cheered him. She gathered them up as the flush of the toilet could be heard once more. Ross entered the room heralded by the squeaky hinges of the old door. "Our clothes are clean, Ross!" Ross smiled in surprise and turned to the man struck with wonder. That he would go out first thing in the morning to do that was very nice. "Thank you!" They disappeared behind the screen. The washtubs were gone, the water had been dumped out and they sat, empty and clean at the far side of the room by the windows. Rather than proper curtains the same sort of drop cloths he let them cover their nakedness with were flung over a curtain rod. A dim tan light glowed through the fabric at the windows with light infused blots shinning, here and there, brighter where stains of oil made the cloth a bit more translucent. They kept the room a bit dark for all it was morning. There was a small charge of embarrassment between them. It was a difficulty to dress as they ordinarily did, no nonsense. Having shared the nude embrace of the morning lent a furtive air to clothing themselves. There was a hint of something new between them. A shyness. They both felt it. They got dressed. Back in proper clothes. Clean. And, for the moment, guests of this kindly man who had yet to tell them his name or ask theirs.

Once more, the cuckoo birds peeked around the screen, blinked at him and came to the table. Their feet were bare for their shoes were still wet. The wooden floor was not splintery so it was not a hardship. They came to the wooden table, glowing with age and surrounded by comfortable looking, sturdy wooden chairs; none of which matched. He nodded. He might have been a schoolmaster greeting pupils. "I am Ambrose. Ambrose van der Bezige. You may call me Brose, as most people do." Ross and Dem looked to each other, briefly. "Thank you, Brose. My name is Ross." Dem piped up, "I'm Dem!" He smiled. "Pleased to know the cats have names... Do sit down, there will be cocoa and I have croissants from the boulangerie..." They took their seats and the promise of breakfast made them smile. Brose made cocoa for Ross and Dem, a coffee for himself, untied the candy striped string from the bakery box and lay the croissants on very old, flowered plates. He poured the cocoa between two ceramic bowls rather than mugs or cups. They were thick, ivory colored with a dark red rim and a crazed surface within and without. They felt warm to the touch. Ross and Dem wondered if they were meant to eat it like soup, with a spoon and looked to Brose for guidance. He could see they had not drunk from bowls before. Preoccupied by having intruders and delousing them the night before, Brose had more cause to notice his guests condition in the light of the morning. He could see dark circles under their eyes. They had been sleeping rough and in some sort of distress before they tumbled through his skylight. The boy had similar fading bruises on his neck as the girl did but his had been empurpled in places, clearly someone had attacked them. The boy could be seen to have had the worst of it... "Ah! How English you are!" he said smiling. He mimed bringing the bowl to his lips. "Drink up!" Ross raised an eyebrow at Dem, who shrugged a little. They lifted the bowls, in both hands. It was impossible not to take a huge drink of cocoa from the bowl. It was sweet and warm and the urge to guzzle it down was fought against by both of them. They smiled as they swallowed, looked to the other, agreeing that their enjoyment was the same, and then Brose watched their faces disappear behind the bottoms of the bowls, like an eclipse. He wondered if a pint _each_ wouldn't have been better. "Good?" asked Brose with an amused smile. They nodded yes. Brose produced a small pot of raspberry jam and spooned generous dollops of it on the plates. He sat and in a mimic of their host, Ross and Demelza broke off buttery, flaky pieces of croissant and dipped about, scooping jam up from the plate and eating it all up. "Oh, Sweetness!" said Ross dreamily. "Isn't it delicious!" Dem nodded, mouth very full of her own enjoyment of the croissant and jam. They were too involved with their breakfast to see Brose startle at Ross calling Dem 'Sweetness'. He paused from his own bite of croissant. In a somewhat astonished voice he asked, "You call her 'Sweetness'?" Dem swallowed down her mouthful. "My full name means 'Thy sweetness', Demelza..." Brose squinted a little. 'Demelza' didn't sound like any name he'd ever heard. "Is that an English name?" Dem frowned. "I suppose it must be! I'm English. Mum was called it too..." Brose nodded. "It is a pretty name..." he said. The surprise of hearing that endearment gave way to pondering that Dem spoke of her mother in past tense. 'One parent is gone it seems...' thought Brose. He let it lie. He smiled over their enjoyment of breakfast and resolved to bring more milk tomorrow. They ate the croissants and washed their hands at the sink where Brose cleaned their hair the night before. Having washed and fed them. Having cleaned their clothes, Brose proved himself a friend. He suggested they could stop here, in the studio at night. They must not tell other children or bring other people. They must stay clean. They thanked him. "We can pay you! Once we start making money again!" said Ross with Dem nodding agreement. Brose frowned. How will you make money?" Being street children he feared the answer. Surely these two could not end up on the game or thieving...? Ross shrugged. "We'll find something..." he said, optimistically. Dem said, "The season is over or we'd pick fruit again. But we can busk until that happens again." Ross and Dem agreed to never return to Marseilles but there was other agricultural work to be had, a job they knew how to do... Brose looked between them. They looked too young to work. "You picked fruit?" Brose looked at them, sharply. They both nodded 'yes'. "In a dormitory? They gave you room and board to pick fruit?" Again, they nodded their heads 'yes'. That should have set them up in a rented room, not fancy of course but... "What happened to your money?" asked Brose. Ross and Dem wilted, suddenly, looked like pets kicked by a nasty owner. "We were robbed..." said Dem, quietly. "You have nothing? Did they hurt you?" They did not speak but the state of them and the look on their face was clearly 'yes'. Ross said, glumly, "Our money was taken and then we lost our bag. We only have the guitar now..." Brose frowned. He had known and met English people from time to time. These two dressed in the bohemian style, long haired. The boy was a street urchin, through and through, but his accent was not that of a working class person. The girl's accent was more broad but neither child struck him as low born as their circumstance at the moment put them. They seemed to be good kids. Willing to work, wanting to offer to pay him. They should not. They needed to save so they could rent a room of their own. "You should save your money or you'll never have enough to rent a room!" They looked cowed. Their grand plans for enjoying their newfound freedom had gone spectacularly out of control. "Do you speak French?" They shook their heads no. Brose tsked over them 'Old enough to run away, too young to have sense...' He thought. "You were robbed?" asked Brose, "You have no papers?" Dem looked puzzled. "Papers?" He looked from one to the other. "You came to France, from England, with a passport?" They shook their heads 'no'. "Ooh la la!" Brose rolled his eyes. Two stary eyed children who imagined themselves grown up landing stateless in a country where they were not fluent in the language. Odd jobs and busking was all they could hope for. Street criminals probably saw them as the easy targets they were and fleeced them. Two kids who could not fight back or even understand what was being said about them. Ross and Dem could see this man despaired over them, but still seemed to like them. "What did you hope for? Coming to France?" he asked with a mystified shrug. Ross looked at him with no guile. No sense of how innocent and silly he sounded. "To be free!" They nodded agreement in this. Both, wide eyed and lovely. Too young and utterly foolish. Brose smiled. He would have to look after these two. "What money you make you must save. You may stay here and save your money. You must have a room of your own. You must have a place to lay you head that is yours. The 'freedom' you have at the moment is a ticket to an early grave! How old are you?" Ross and Dem, instinctively, lied. "Sixteen!" said Ross and Dem, in unison. Brose gave a derisive snort. "Don't tell lies! How old are you, really?" He struggled not to sound angry at them. In truth he was becoming afraid. They were earnest and sweet and clearly too young to be wandering around like this. Ross sat up a little straighter, a bit of attitude appeared. 'Yes,' thought Ross, 'Things became difficult... We had our belongs and money taken away, narrowly escaped being raped and shot a policeman but we are strong and we still have the guitar! It only needs a new string!' "Fifteen. But I'll be sixteen in December!" said Ross, with a hint of challenge in his voice. Brose smiled at the show of defiance in Ross. Perhaps there was enough stubbornness in him to make a go of this silliness. "And you?" Dem, sat up as well. Best to show a united front. "Fourteen, sir." Brose laughed. She sirred him and they looked determined. Ready to fight alongside the Maid of Orleans. 'Well, that settles it.' thought Brose. 'Stateless, penniless, ignorant of the language and underage to boot...' Brose realised he had to look after them. "The cold weather is coming. What money you make you must save. Then you can follow the seasonal work once more. When it is too cold to sit out busking, you will stay here. By spring you can make your own way, earn more money and rent your own place. Deal?" Ross and Dem looked to the other. An assured roof over their head while they built their nest egg up again. A man who was kind, without being sentimental on the one hand, not so judgemental he would decline assisting them on the other. Ross and Dem smiled into Brose's eyes. They were happy. 'Where on _Earth_ have you come from?' thought Brose as he fought the urge to laugh.

"Deal!"

They shook hands, first Ross and then Dem. "I have a model coming at two. You can stay or go but you must be back by seven at night. Sometimes I work late but usually I go home at seven. If you are late I don't want you fooling with that skylight! I rent this place. The landlord will throw a fit of he finds out you two broke in here! You must try your luck in the street if you don't return in time for me to let you in. Understand?" They nodded. They shared a smile. A friendship had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaspard de la Nuit, 1.Ondine, Maurice Ravel 1908
> 
> First of three movements based on poems by Aloysius Bertrand, 1836
> 
> . . . Je croyais entendre  
> Une vague harmonie enchanter mon sommeil,  
> Et près de moi s'épandre un murmure pareil  
> Aux chants entrecoupés d'une voix triste et tendre.
> 
> Ch. Brugnot. – Les deux Génies
> 
> » Écoute ! – Écoute ! – C'est moi, c'est Ondine qui frôle de ces gouttes d'eau les losanges sonores de ta fenêtre illuminée par les mornes rayons de la lune; et voici, en robe de moire, la dame châtelaine qui contemple à son balcon la belle nuit étoilée et le beau lac endormi.
> 
> » Chaque flot est un ondin qui nage dans le courant, chaque courant est un sentier qui serpente vers mon palais, et mon palais est bâti fluide, au fond du lac, dans le triangle du feu, de la terre et de l'air.
> 
> » Écoute ! – Écoute ! – Mon père bat l'eau coassante d'une branche d'aulne verte, et mes sœurs caressent de leurs bras d'écume les fraîches îles d'herbes, de nénuphars et de glaîeuls, ou se moquent du saule caduc et barbu qui pêche à la ligne. »
> 
> Sa chanson murmurée, elle me supplia de recevoir son anneau à mon doigt, pour être l'époux d'une Ondine, et de visiter avec elle son palais, pour être le roi des lacs.
> 
> Et comme je lui répondais que j'aimais une mortelle, boudeuse et dépitée, elle pleura quelques larmes, poussa un éclat de rire, et s'évanouit en giboulées qui ruisselèrent blanches le long de mes vitraux bleus.
> 
> . . . . . . . . I thought I heard  
> A faint harmony that enchants my sleep.  
> And close to me radiates an identical murmur  
> Of songs interrupted by a sad and tender voice.
> 
> Ch. Brugnot – The two Spirits
> 
> "Listen! – Listen! – It is I, it is Ondine who brushes drops of water on the resonant panes of your windows lit by the gloomy rays of the moon; and here in gown of watered silk, the mistress of the chateau gazes from her balcony on the beautiful starry night and the beautiful sleeping lake.
> 
> "Each wave is a water sprite who swims in the stream, each stream is a footpath that winds towards my palace, and my palace is a fluid structure, at the bottom of the lake, in a triangle of fire, of earth and of air.
> 
> "Listen! – Listen! – My father whips the croaking water with a branch of a green alder tree, and my sisters caress with their arms of foam the cool islands of herbs, of water lilies, and of corn flowers, or laugh at the decrepit and bearded willow who fishes at the line."
> 
> Her song murmured, she beseeched me to accept her ring on my finger, to be the husband of an Ondine, and to visit her in her palace and be king of the lakes.
> 
> And as I was replying to her that I loved a mortal, sullen and spiteful, she wept some tears, uttered a burst of laughter, and vanished in a shower that streamed white down the length of my blue stained glass windows.
> 
> Crazing on ceramics is when there's a webbing network of surface cracks in the glaze. Crazing can endanger the object and make it weaker over time, prone to breakage, because water can soak through to the clay after a time from washing up.
> 
> Les petits chats: the little cats
> 
> On the game:prostitution


	34. Versatile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Provisions and necessities

"You must have a coat!" said Ambrose over his coffee cup. "You both must have coats! How you expect to sit out in all weathers like that?!" He gestured to the clothes Ross and Dem wore with his coffee cup. All that was left after abandoning their bag in Marseilles. Brose mentioned coats but it was clear they needed their wardrobes restored. He did not pry into the loss of their possessions or the assault upon them. Ross and Dem looked up from devouring oranges, breaking away the segments as quickly as they were munching them up. Brose was amused. They ate like longshoremen. He thought back to the war. After the Nazis occupied the Netherlands, people became hungry enough and desperate enough to eat tulip bulbs to stay alive. How different life can be. Time was, people would riot for food. That he could feed these two fresh fruit with the snap of a finger was a strange turn. That he had kids to look after anyhow was a strange turn. His mother would have laughed... "We shall go out today and find you two a good coat! And more of those dungarees you wear. You need more clothes anyway. I will buy them for you. What you are wearing now will turn to cobwebs if they are washed much more..." They smiled. Brose was fascinated by his guests. They did brave the October chill in their threadbare clothes without complaint. It was said that street people didn't feel the cold like others. Ambrose was not certain that was true. That they had more fortitude in the face of cold was more accurate. They made the best of their lot.

Ross looked up from his orange and was surprised that their new friend was willing to spend money to give them new clothes. They dearly needed them. His anorak was not meant for colder weather but Ross often wished he had the use of it after their ordeal and journey to Paris. He and Dem could have used it like a blanket, huddled together for warmth. It was a strange realignment of one's sense of comfort when you were a vagabond. Before Ross met Dem he had already resigned himself to the idea that the only life to be had was on the road, on the fringes of things. He did not strive to dream about more schooling like his cousins were attending. He didn't fancy taking to a life of crime either. Papa had impressed upon him the dangers of following the Vigus brothers into true criminaliy. A third way. Ross' way. Make the best of what freedom has to offer with his own wits and a guitar. Perhaps his own wits lead him astray sometimes but he had faith he would land on his feet. He met Dem and their friendship was instantaneously assured. Now they had crossed to the other side of a dangerous situation. That made them closer. It did not make them wish to leave the vagabond path though. It did perhaps compel them to try and make a better job of it...

Dem looked up from her orange. Brose told them he would buy them proper coats and more clothes. She was so touched that he would spend his own money on two strangers. Demand that they accept his offer as something inevitable. In her fourteen years of life Dem had seen the cruelty of her father, matrons who were sweet as pie when observed by visitors and cruel behind closed doors. She had escaped from men who liked to use their power to hurt people. They even thought so little of others that they threatened to kill people and felt happy over it. There was much about humanity that was quite frightening. But she also had a young child's remembrance of her mother's love. She knew the friendship of a neighbor on her street who let her stay in her sitting room, gave her biscuits to eat and space apart from Pa. She knew a boy, full of life and music and the wish to share a new life with a stranger. He offered to stand by her and be her friend. And now Brose who helped them to be clean, agreed to look after them and let them stay here. He didn't treat them like a burden, didn't treat them like the 'dogooders' who wanted the girls at the Home to grovel before aid was relinquished sparingly, grudgingly and with a great deal of fanfare to the papers and church bulletin over how saintly they were for helping the poor, poor troubled girls. Brose seemed to like them. Demelza smiled at Brose. She wanted to be a good person, like her mother, like Mrs. Dawes down the lane, like Ross, like Brose. She had examples ever before her to turn aside what was dark in her. Dem would be good. Shooting someone with a gun was not good but she could live her life well by striving to be generous and friendly and sharing what she could give in her life. This man was nice. Dem would be nice...

Brose went to a store he did not know, to buy them more boys clothes. He relied on Ross and Demelza choosing for he was not a good judge of clothes for youngsters. They came away with two pairs of blue jeans and two tee shirts each. There were shop assistants nearly as young as Ross and Dem to Ambrose's eyes, college age kids, with rock music playing on a record player in the corner of the room. He did not like this store. It was loud and somewhat dark inside. The young people shopping looked content and happy in here though. It was not the most relaxing atmosphere for a mature shopper. Ross and Dem were a bit at sea at first because they did not speak French. When the shop girls found out they were English it was better. They were seen as exotic, glamorous customers and a joyful exchange of broken French and English ensued. To them, Ross looked like a film star. The other boys thought he looked cool; young enough that his mother let him get away with hair as long as a girl's and a soft touch of a grand-père who bought the latest fashions for him without quibbling. The girls adored his long dark hair and dark eyes that made him look like a male lead in a children's adventure movie. The girls saw Dem as a fellow female at once. They were excited that she was buying boys clothing and walking the streets with her friend in proper boys clothes. Dem was just a kid but she had an enviable sense of style. Dem was 'trés chic'! Having bought their items and made a strong impression on other girls in the shop; who soon horrified their mothers by intentionally buying a boys outfit to wear (In front of all the neighbors! Ooh, la, la!), Brose took them to a store he knew very well. A large, well lit place that sold second hand clothes in good condition and kept clean. He often bought clothes for modelling, costuming the models that sat for him for not too much money. He knew he could find men's shirts that could secret Dem's gender and coats that would keep them warm for a good price. The thrill of the hunt was a draw to this shop. Pinching pennies until they cried out for mercy, too, brought bargin hunters, students and the sort of commercial artists like Brose who drew and painted anything the clients wanted by cobbling together costumes near enough to the need and embellishing the rest until one might believe you really did have a pirate or a princess or a village maiden from a colonial country in your studio. Some clothes were hanging on rails. Overspill was set on the floor in wide, round cardboard barrels. Brose put Ross and Dem to work looking through a barrel of men's button shirts and told them they must each pick three. "Ross! You should have this one!" said Dem holding up a mint green shirt. Ross recoiled. "I'd look like a boiled sweet in that!" Demelza laughed. It carried through the shop and Brose chuckled as he looked through a rack of overcoats. "You should! You'd look nice in green!" Ross was still not convinced. "Well... Get it for yourself and maybe we'll share it..." Dem put it under her arm. Out of prudence they each chose a dark blue shirt. This to avoid showing dirt too much. They were thankful to their benefactor but they still served the needs of the road. Not too much too carry in a bag and able to bear a life that was not that of gentlefolk. Dem took the mint green one the dark blue and a light blue one with thin white stripes. Ross found a white shirt with a placket of five buttons rather than the whole length of it. The cotton it was made of was quite thick and seemed very cozy. He looked for a similar one without success and then, disappointed not to find the same sort chose black one. Dem tsked. Ross defended it. "It won't show dirt!" Dem sniffed, "You don't want to look like a boiled sweet because you want to look like licorice!" Ross held his shirts over his arm and held the side of the cardboard barrel as he bent double and laughed. Brose rejoined them. "I think you have injured him, Dem." he said dryly. "He is laughing like a toy wound up!" She giggled and Ross recovered himself. There was a great deal of choice in cold weather coats. Dem and Ross tried on many. Ross had particular needs. He mimicked holding his guitar because the coat had to have enough give in the sleeves to allow him to play. Shoppers around them took occasional, amused glances at the young boy standing like Mark Antony, looking as if he might say, "Friends! Romans! Countrymen, lend me your ears!" in each coat he tried on. Some swam on the boy, far too large. Some had tight enough armholes to stymie his movement and his look of annoyance at this was quite comic. Dem chose a warm overcoat that was not too big. It had a woven herringbone pattern in a dark brown and beige and was warm as toast. Ross, after much experimentation found a dark navy blue overcoat with generous armholes and a length that did not fall too long. His hair seemed to become one with the coat, falling lose at his shoulders. If his experiments in the merits of the various coats were like Marcus Antonius, Ross came to settle on a more Napoleonic looking solution. "You look very distinguished, Ross." said Brose. "Thank you, Brose! I will definitely be able to play my guitar in it!" Brose turned to Dem. The strangeness of her. Even other shoppers strained to understand if she was male or female, looking in consternation for depending on her stance, her smile, her cheerful chatter with Ross, one could be convinced each way and not be sure either way. "So do you, young man!" Dem smiled like the sun. Brose paid for their clothes and left everyone in the store baffled.

Other purchases of need. A bargain store provided boys underwear and socks. Le drugstore provided soap, toothpaste, proper shampoo and discreet, feminine items that Brose blushed to pay for. The afternoon was idling towards evening. Ross heaved their bag of shopping over his shoulder, like Santa Claus carrying his sack of toys for good girls and boys. Dem carried shopping too. Brose remained unencumbered for he would bear away their dinner. They entered a shop that sold roasted chickens in addition to offering raw birds to cook at home. They turned on spits over a rubbled landscape of boiled potatoes. The smell was heavenly. The chicken spun over the potatoes roasting in the same heat. One ordered a hot roasted chicken and received a waxed cardboard carton of hot potatoes that were toothsomely soft because they were boiled, crisp on their outside from the heat and soaked in golden, garlicky, chicken juices. Brose plumped for braised endive, speckled with pepper packed in a third carton and then went to the patisserie. Brose, now juggling hot parcels sent Dem in with funds enough to buy a tarte au citron. Bearing a feast for for a king and new clothes, they returned to the studio.

Mimi meowed her hello. The sunlight was fading and lamps of various kinds illuminated the studio. Dem's favorite was a wood carving of a woman's head and shoulders. She was ten inches high, and rested her chin between her hands with her eyes somewhat closed, as if she was beginning to sleep or daydreaming something pretty. Her hair fell at a flat slant on either side like a nuns wimple or a medieval maiden. The fixture that held the lightbulb rose from the center of the statue. The bright light did not trouble the dreaming lady. Dem often ran her fingers along the silky smooth wood. The lampshade was wire held moire silk, a old yellowed shade, shaped like a drum, that had seen better days. Dem thought it was wonderful. She sat next to the bookcase it sat upon when she and Ross would look at books. She would even bring books from other places back to that spot for the lamp was that pretty. Ross helped Brose set the table and set Mimi's dish of food on the floor. "Dem! Eet ze!" Dem turned from the lamp to see Brose pouring mineral water in cups for them. He had a bottle of beer for himself. Ross smiled at her as he took his seat and she came to sit next to him. The food was still hot, well seasoned and absolutely delicious. Brose was not surprised to see the chicken, potatoes and endive demolished by his little cats. He drank his beer and ate his food and watched Ross and Dem giggling and chatting through their meal. Brose, interjected comment now and again. They liked to talk of poetry and books they had read. Brose had a book of Rilke knocking around the studio, "It's an English translation. I shall turn it up, you will like him, I'm sure!" he said, charmed that kids so young had the same joy in reading and wide interest that he had at that age. He kept many books about the studio. Many were in Dutch but he strengthened his English with many books of all kinds and allowed Ross and Dem free reign over what ever they wanted. Ross and Dem did not limit themselves to the English language books. They could often be found looking at and enjoying art books with text in them that they could not decipher. Some Sunday nights Brose would sit between them and translate some of the explanations in various books, in French, in Dutch. It looked much like a kindly older gentleman reading fairy stories to young boys with Ross and Dem sat near, peering into the book open on Brose's lap. They would talk about the pictures and Brose never dictated from a position of authority. He listened, teased out Ross and Dem's ideas, pushed them to consider other ones without being unpleasant, read the text but didn't hold it as some kind of gospel. He encouraged their creativity and praised them both when they showed interesting insights. He challenged on occasion. Made them defend what they were saying. Put a different point of view alongside and listened to them puzzle and tease the different strands out. But, tonight, it was poetry. Brose worked on studies for an illustration for a story in a magazine. Ross and Dem read poetry aloud. Sometimes they would read a poem twice because they liked it so much. With some time to rest after their meal they met up again at the table to eat some lemon tart. There would be two pieces left over for Ross and Dem to have the next day. After a nice dessert and looking at more books, Ross sat on the sofa and played his guitar a while. Brose was impressed by Ross' playing. Dem sat near the pretty lamp, listening to Ross play guitar, looking at a book of Kandinsky paintings, black and white photos interspersed with color plates. The text was in Dutch but the vigor and energy of the pictures, the prettiness of them too, was enough. It made her happy to see them. She felt excited by them and fascinated by all the different people in the world making art. At some point the art didn't exist before. Then somebody made their art and it did! Wasn't it wonderful to open a book and see things that were in a different country, created in a different time and sat in your own lap simultaneously? Ross, still strumming the guitar, looked up to see Dem, smiling over a book by the lamp that looked like a woman falling asleep. If he was an artist, thought Ross, he would draw Dem, just like that. Happy with a book by a lamp that looked like a person, face half in shadow. And her smile. Dem's pretty smile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Versatile, Claude Bolling with Jean-Pierre Rampal 1975
> 
> Grand-père: the kids in the store think Brose is Ross' grandparent
> 
> Friends! Romans! Countrymen, lend me your ears!: Act III, scene II of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar
> 
> Eet ze: go ahead and eat, come eat
> 
> Rainer Maria Rilke b.1875-d.1926
> 
> Wassily Wassilyevich Kandinsky b.1866-d.1944


	35. Sally Go Round The Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I loved a mortal, sullen and spiteful...

When one acquires pets, the responsibility over them compounds. Brose became quite used to his petit chats. Ross and Dem followed his rules of coming to the studio by seven and washed each night with proper soap that he bought for them. They washed and dressed behind the folding screen and Brose gave them two old shirts of his to sleep in on the mattress in the small loft at the back of the studio, under the skylight. A cup resided by the slop sink holding two toothbrushes and a tube of paste. Brose helped shampoo their heads over the slop sink at regular intervals. On nights when he worked late they were pleasant companions. They were impressed by his paintings and the drawings he did for advertisements and magazines. He painted for his own enjoyment as well and had a mixture of very true to life canvases as well as abstract. They liked looking through his sketchbooks. They both looked up at him in happy surprise to see he had drawn Ross combing Dem's hair. They looked at him like children delighted by a magician. They asked him questions -about art, about the Netherlands, about drawing and he answered them with patience and good humor. Brose wanted to laugh at their remarks more often than he allowed himself. When they proved too much distraction, Ross and Dem could be entertained by looking at books and magazines he had about the place. He brought them a pint of milk each, croissants for the morning and fresh fruit like apples and oranges. He bought more cans of soup and began to fret over them eating properly. He let them have a bit of money each morning to eat at a cafe during the day and gave bread and soup to them at night. On weekends he bought a cooked meal and shared it with them. It was what he could manage. Brose's studio was not designed to live in. The hot plate was the only mode of cooking. There was no refrigerator. The toilet was all there was, no bathtub or shower stall. He was too cautious to have homeless kids in his apartment but having permitted them to stay in the studio made him have to outfit it properly. He went to 'marché aux puces', the flea market, while Ross and Dem were out, presumably busking. Brose upon hearing that a string had broken on the instrument let Ross have some money to buy new strings and smiled at the boy bringing the change back to give Brose with heartfelt thanks like a boy scout. Ambrose liked rummaging in the flea markets. One could purchase proper antiques and goods of a better made quality than you could find modern made, sometimes. He took his time. He bought six, thick glass tumblers to drink from. A handful of plates and saucers divorced from their cups. Cutlery. Good, sturdy spoons, forks and knives that were stainless steel and didn't have to be polished. Some saucepans and a skillet were added. Having bought these, he realized he had to drop them off at the studio for the weight of it all was heavy and he wanted to get as much as he could, today, in one go. They should have proper sheets and warm blankets for the mattress. He brought the assortment of pans and plates back to the studio and stood looking at his space. They would live here when the weather was cold. They might get underfoot while he was working. He had not given them the sketchbooks yet. Maybe they could be occupied drawing. He could set them tasks like he used to do for his students... He sighed. They had no identification. He'd written out their names and birthdays. They told him with no hesitation. They were very sweet and honest. What on earth were they doing? Why would two kids this nice be put out of their homes? Brose felt they should have some sort of papers. They couldn't speak French and got here illegally. An I.D. would help Ross get work once he turned sixteen. It was just as well they stay put in his studio in the winter. Ross would be sixteen by December. Fifteen and fourteen, no belongings, wanting to wander about busking... Stay put with him until the boy was of age, at least... An I.D. would prove Dem to be a year too young but Brose felt it was better to be accurate. It might court more trouble for them to lie and add a year to her age on an official document. He put his shopping on the table and stared at the paper with their names and birthdays. Brose had a source but had to steel himself to tap it. It took him a couple of weeks to make up his mind and ask. 

"Ambrose!"

Brose had fretted over how Étienne would greet him, how he would be, how he should act. Dispassionate and businesslike? Warm and sentimental? In spite of himself his smiled the same wide eyed smile that Étienne had always produced from him. They exchanged kisses on each cheek. The look on Étienne's face was fond and self satisfied. He relied on seeing Brose looking like a lamb bleating at sight of his master. He had married but that had not stopped a strange desire, a need in him, to know that he still held Ambrose in his thrall. It was a strand of cruelty in him, he knew that, but it was what it was. "I was told it was you and could not quite believe it! Come to my study, it is so good of you to visit!" Brose walked in step with him and tried to be casual. Étienne smelled the same and it was making him remember too many things. "I need a favor if you would indulge me..." Étienne looked sharply at him, amused. "Well, well... That is of interest!" They exchanged a look. "You've been shy of that in the past..." Brose frowned. He had to pull himself together. This always happened. The moment he was back in front of this man he always started wishing for things he could not have. "Well, now is the present. I have two young people who are stateless staying with me. If you could see them settled with identification cards I would be in your debt. "What? How young?" Brose answered, not really considering how it would sound. "Fifteen and fourteen, they came to France from England, as stowaways, and..." Étienne frowned as he showed Brose into the study. It was the sort of over decorated, Belle Époque style of a man from a family as wealthy and politically powerful as Étienne was. He closed the door with a stern expression. "Have you gone mad?!" he whispered, "Why would you have two stateless kids, boys...? Underage?! Are you fucking them?!" Brose's mouth fell open. "Of course not! Is that what you think of me?! That I would have at children?! NO!" Étienne regretted the comment. Ambrose was artistic and rebellious but, no, he would not harm children. "I apologize." They were quiet for a time. Brose trying to pull himself out of being offended and Étienne sorry to have suggested such a thing. Sorry for many things. He still enjoyed hearing Brose's accented French. He still felt an unfair sense of ownership over his... friend... His behavior with Ambrose had never been kind. Brose crossed his arms and glowered. Étienne had the look of guilt and kindness on his face that always manipulated him. Brose had the determination not to be wrapped around his finger again. Étienne was wicked that way. He could wrong you nineteen different ways but scramble your head and heart until it was you wanting to apologize to him. "I shall not come here again," Brose said. "I needed advice, wanted a favor but I upset you -to no purpose, you insult me!" Étienne shuffled papers on his desk that did not need tidying, looking at his hands as he spoke. "It's not your coming..." Brose looked on, arms still crossed. "What am I to think then?" Étienne looked up at him and Brose realized he was never going to be free of this man. His eyes were still wonderfully blue, darker than his own. They were a form of hypnotism. They looked beseeching and Brose could start to feel his heartbeat faster, start to feel the floor become quicksand, shifting beneath him. Étienne blinked at him with the subtle manipulation that came so easily to him. He employed it with his wife just as often. "It only hurts me to feel that you hate me..." Brose looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "You know I don't hate you! Good God, you should know that! I loved you!" Étienne panicked. The door was closed but there were always servants about."Don't say any more." But Brose could not stop himself. "Are you sure you felt so little for me as you pretend? D'you remember that day in your father's garden when you slipped away from them and met me in the summerhouse? That day you said..." Étienne went white. Paled as white as a sheet. If he had the advantage more often than not in their relationship, Brose could sometimes wrest it back. "You forget yourself!" Étienne whispered, forcing the words out. "Oh no I don't!" Brose hissed. "I remember you..." Ambrose was impossible! The Dutch temperament, one supposed. Always radical and always wrapping it in high flung clap trap and superiority. He would save up his grudges and then unleash it all at once. He was like a volcano, he could stay dormant forever or erupt tomorrow. And stare with those damned puppy dog eyes while he did it... "I'm married," hissed Étienne. "It isn't fair to Francine to speak as you -as we are doing. I hoped that we could still be good friends. But you can forget nothing and forgive nothing. Perhaps I was expecting too much. I was... fond of you. I still am. You know it couldn't go on! You knew that!" Brose smirked. He knew. He knew he would forever be second best. He could smell Francine's perfume on him sometimes. And he still would take any scrap Étienne would throw him. His self esteem evaporated and he clung to him far too long. He should have been stronger. Should have had pride enough to quit Étienne far sooner than he did. Brose held to his anger and sense of grievance. In truth Étienne could snap his fingers and demand sex over the desk and Brose would cave. He had been a fool over this man for a good portion of his life, even followed him to France, and it might never change. He needed to try to stay angry. "Since you went and married her I would not wish to say anything or do anything to make your life a more dislikeable one or to spoil the happiness you should be enjoying." Against his intentions a bite had come into the last sentence. A pause. The sarcasm held a knight hiding behind a shield. A heartbroken knight. He heard that in Brose's terse voice. Étienne walked back to the desk. "You say they are English?" Brose exhaled. "Yes. A boy and a girl. I wrote down their names, their birthdays..." They looked at each other. Étienne looked stricken, guilty, toying with Brose and deceiving Francine. Having his cake and eating it too, all these years. They put up with him and he had the grace to know he was a wretched person, sometimes. "It's a pretty parcel we... I made of it... You know how it had to be..." Brose nodded, sadly. "Oh yes... Happiness and increase..." Étienne sighed. His poor little Dutch boy... A guilt gift. A kindness. Mercy. Étienne could play more games with his little Dutch boy but they were old men now. Étienne knew he could bat his eyelashes and have Sweetness on the carpet here and now. It was never kind but it wasn't always vanity. He did love this impossible man... Mercy. "Alright, I can manage them an I.D. They have to get pictures taken but I'll mail them to you. They will be acceptable in France but they can't travel on them. They would need a passport for that." Brose, having been given what he came for felt sheepish. "Thank you." They were at a loss. Shaking hands seemed silly. Kissing was impossible. Brose could never help himself. "Goodbye, Doll..." said Ambrose. Étienne took a long look. He still had Ambrose in the palm of his hand. It was a satisfying feeling. He came around from the desk and stood before Brose. Quietly he pulled him forward and covered his face with kisses. Five or six brushing kisses, loving, admiring; too sexual to be brotherly yet too affectionate to be altogether resented "Goodbye, Sweetness." said Étienne. Brose left the bit of paper on the desk and left. He was agitated and sad. He still needed to hear his pet name, needed hear Étienne call him Sweetness. He called Étienne by his, doll, to ensure it but wasn't it just Étienne proving he still won? Brose stormed up the street feeling an utter fool. He went into a bar ordered a bottle of brandy and set about drinking it.

The hours passed and Brose was deeply drunk. He realized it was getting near six-thirty. He had to let Ross and Dem into the studio or they would be in the street. "We should wait, maybe he's just late?" said Dem, optimistically. Ross leaned against a lamppost. "Oh, I guess... Oh! Here he comes..." They looked down the pavement and Dem's mouth fell open. Brose was, clearly, as drunk as Pa. Brose saw them ahead and gave a half of a wave to them. Ross and Dem exchanged a concerned and surprised look. He handed the guitar case to Dem. Ambrose lumbered up the pavement and Ross jogged forward to meet him. "Brose! Are you alright?!" Ross took Brose's hand and set his arm around his shoulder, helping him walk. "Than...k you, Ross. What would I do without my petite chats, eh...?" They came to the door and Brose fumbled for the keys. Dem looked at him in concern. Brose needed a couple of tries to unlock the door to the studio. Dem recognized the scent of alcohol around him like a halo. The strange determination of drunks, believing they could carry on as normal, struggling with the lock as if it was a conspiracy on the lock's part to baffle his efforts. Brose unlocked the door. He looked at Dem and saw her worry. Saw her disappointment. "Ah yes, my little... Even me, Dem... Even I drink the pain away sometimes..." That struck Dem as one of the saddest things she'd ever heard. Ross helped Brose inside. "Do you want to lie on the bed?" asked Ross. Brose sputtered a bit, half a laugh and half a hiccup, amused. It was hardly a bed at all, just a mattress on the floor. "No, no, that is your bed. I'm too old for that anyway." he chuckled. "I would never get back up out of it! Let me have the sofa..." Dem set the guitar on the floor and rushed to the sofa, not in a position to help Brose but wanting to. Ross helped Brose to the sofa and he looked at Ross' face, so near from having held him up. "There we are!" said Ross, about to stand upright. Brose put a hand to Ross' cheek. He looked at Ross' face and rubbed a thumb across his mouth. "What a pretty little mouth you've got! What pretty lips..." said Brose, wistfully. Ross froze. Dem, standing near the sofa to Brose's right, froze. That was a compliment they were not sure what to do with. Brose could see he had shocked his young friends. Ross was beautiful but he had not meant it as a seduction. ‘If I had my youth again I would not have wasted it on Étienne...’ thought Brose. Ross did not move. Brose had run his thumb across his mouth and it startled him. Ross had been propositioned in various crude ways by men since he left home. Brose had not struck him as being attracted to men. It was startling but Ross but, other than blinking in surprise, Ross waited. He trusted the kindness Brose had already showed them. He and Brose stared at each other. His hand was warm at his cheek. Brose's eyes were not lustful or frightening. His face was deeply, deeply sad. Brose looked into Ross' eyes. He spoke with a paternal, gentle, male energy. Dem and Ross, both, could feel a fatherly sentimentality from him. Brose looked to Dem, briefly, and then back to Ross. "Don't fear me mon chats... But heed me well, Ross," Brose was drunk, but he looked at Ross with sharp, blue eyes. Looked to him with the seriousness of one who knew the hazard of which he spoke. "You save that pretty mouth, Ross. Don't waste it on fudgy faced bitches and bastards who promise to love you and don't really give a goddamn... Save those pretty lips for someone like Dem... Kiss someone who will love you properly and be her good, true man..." Brose lay back on the sofa and closed his eyes. His hand slid down Ross' cheek and flopped next to his leg on the sofa. He spoke sleepily. Turned his face to Dem's direction along the sofa back, eyes still closed. "Dem, I'm sorry, my little. I don't drink like this often..." He opened his eyes suddenly looking very alert, looking between them. Ross and Dem could see that their friend had a great deal of pain in him. He would not speak of the pain that hurt him but it made Brose sad. Brose looked between them and then lay back on the sofa. He sat for some time staring with a little frown at the opposite wall. “I’m tired...” he said. Dem patted his shoulder gently as she and Ross exchanged a look of concern. They came away, quietly, as if he was already asleep. They hung up their coats, took turns using the toilet and then sat on the floor in front of the sofa at his feet. Ross and Dem looked at art books, quietly turning the pages and at the black and white reproductions of old master paintings that were stacked in a lidded cardboard box that smelled of camphor. They whispered over the art quietly and flanked Brose like guardians. Mimi wound herself around all three of them, then leaped onto the sofa, curling up next to Brose looking contented by his side. They stayed near their friend. He closed his eyes once more and slept.

In the morning, Brose woke to the smell of coffee. Dem made Brose's morning coffee for him and Ross had already gone out to buy croissants. Ross and Dem smiled encouragement to him and he was struck by the kindness within both of them. It was wrong to speak to Ross in such a suggestive manner, certainly wrong to stroke his lips with his thumb. He had done wrong in that but they trusted him to understand what he meant. They understood that he did not mean Ross or Dem harm. The trust between them stood. He went to the bathroom. He went to the slop sink, rinsed and dried his face. He joined them at the table. "Good morning." smiled Ross. "Good morning, Brose. We made the coffee..." said Dem, smiling hello and looking to him in a sympathetic way. Brose smiled back at both of them, warmly.  
“Thank you.” said Brose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sally Go Round The Roses, The Jaynetts 1963
> 
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the roses)  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the pretty roses)  
> Roses they can't hurt you (roses they can't hurt you)  
> Roses they can't hurt you (no, the roses they can't hurt you)  
> Sally don't you go, don't you go downtown  
> Sally don't you go, don't you go downtown  
> Saddest thing in the whole wide world  
> Is to see your baby with another girl  
> Don't you go downtown (Sally go 'round)  
> No, don't you go downtown ('round and 'round)  
> Yes, because the saddest thing in the whole wide world  
> Is to see your baby with another girl  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the roses)  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the pretty roses)  
> They won't tell your secret (they won't tell your secret)  
> They won't tell your secret (no, the roses won't tell your secret)  
> Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down  
> Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down  
> Sit and cry where the roses grow  
> You can sit and cry, not a soul will know  
> Let your hair hang down (Sally go 'round)  
> Yes, let your hair hang down, yeah ('round and 'round)  
> Because the saddest thing in the whole wide world  
> Is to see your baby with another girl  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the roses)  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the pretty roses)  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the roses)  
> Sally go 'round the roses (Sally go 'round the roses
> 
> Oh yes... Happiness and increase... : Brose's ex boyfriend married for the sake of propriety and having heirs to continue the family line as well as being closeted and continuing have an affair with Brose at a time when you could be committed to an institution or arrested for homosexual behavior. "Happiness and increase" is an old fashioned phrase for wishing someone plenty of children in a marriage.
> 
> Their entire conversation was spoken between them in French
> 
> "I loved a mortal, sullen and spiteful...": Aloysius Bertrand's Gaspard de la Nuit, Ondine 1836


	36. To Have And To Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To love and cherish

"The beginning of moral values is in the child when he first explores his talents and desires. His mind and the rest of him all grow together as he plays with clay, rides his tricycle, learns to read, and wrestles with his friends. When we think of them in terms of their possibilities, their needs, and their efforts at understanding. A genuine sense of wonder exists in each child and each one, if he is given a chance, asks about the origin of practically everything, and why things happen as they do. The child continually looks for values and truth, and his search leads him to the important issues. These are the issues of what is good and what is bad, what is beautiful and what is not, and what is true and what is false. He asks for help, and wants to know from us what answers we can give him. We cannot avoid giving answers. But we can avoid forcing answers upon him as a form of revealed truth. We can also avoid cutting up the answers into different departments of knowledge, and classifying what he learns as science or art. We tell him as much as we can about what he asks, and let it go at that. It is only when he becomes enmeshed in an educational system that he learns that there is a difference between science and art, poetry and fact, knowledge and values. When we are faced with a child in the raw, we try to teach him to live in his world by seeing the relations between one thing and another (philosophy), understanding how to deal with himself and other people (psychology), what are the names and descriptions of various things(science), how to count and abstract thinking (mathematics), how to imagine people and situations (literature), and what are some of the more desirable ways to behave (the humanities). I suggest therefore that we look at the whole of education as a series of different experiences, some of them more useful than others. Children and adults will continue to have experiences whether we wish them to or not. Socrates has said that the public is the greatest of all sophists, and is capable of the highest degree of corruption. He could also have said that the public, or society, is the greatest of all educators, since it surrounds the child and the adult with continual experience from which the individual learns."

Ross and Dem and Brose, independently of each other, all chose to draw a veil over the drunken exchange they'd had a few days ago. The matter was discreetly forgotten by all. In the children's view they would rather risk continuing to stay with a man who couldn't contain his liquor but showed them unwavering generosity and kindness, having had multiple poor experiences with other grown ups who had harmed them in various ways, drunk or no. In Ambrose's case, he was quite mortified to be seen by them in such a state and he resolved to not let it happen again. Étienne forever brought out a melancholic masochism in him that he would do well to abandon. He was a fool to take it so to heart, he thought. Brose had children living in his studio. He would be responsible and look after them. The situation was not a question of his being reformed by contact with the pure and lovely spirit of a child, for all their innocence, Ross and Dem had as much original sin as he had. No, a pact with himself to be a good steward over the flotsam that dropped in his lap from his skylight in a heavy rain. Like ducklings who lay first sight on a great auk, Ross and Dem needed looking after and Ambrose sought to care for these two kids who settled into his studio like stray kittens in a comfortable parlor. His little cats. Not being of a parental mindset, Brose was pragmatic and set about looking after them in the way that made the most sense to him. The youngsters would be like students to him. A situation he was familiar with and left a barrier of authority between him and them. He was chary of becoming too attached to them. They were street children. They were 'stopping a spell', they were wintering here and then would be on their way. This not only because they were seeking to move on, not only because they had agreed on this arrangement but Brose's lease for the studio was not renewed. He was going back to Amsterdam in the spring. They would part ways and disappear back into their own worlds. While they were in each others company he decided it would be beneficial for all parties if he taught them to draw. One could never be bored if you practiced drawing. Anything your eye fell upon provided challenge and strengthened one's skill. It was absorbing, and would keep them occupied. It would keep them busy while he worked on his own assignments and projects. The time taken to instruct them would be a pleasant break within his own work. It would be a good project for them alongside the enjoyment they so often showed so absorbed in books during the long winter. They would not busk in the streets as often when the cold weather came. Let them strengthen their eyes and hands as well as their minds. Brose would offer Ross and Demelza the gift of draftsmanship. He considered drawing a noble enterprise. The eye trains the hand, and vise versa...

Ross leapt from the Enyses' car shouting his thanks to them over his shoulder. This was not in embarrassment or grief but an outgrowth of his urgent need to tend Desdemona who had Dem's attention, of course, but had been without Ross' care since his bereavement. Dem took her leave more slowly. She leaned her arm over Caroline's seat, her chin resting there between Dwight and Caroline who took Dem's hand and looked into her eyes with pride. Ross and Dem had recounted their terrible ordeal and gotten to the other side of it, secure in the knowledge that their friends loved them and did not find fault in the Poldarks' behavior. The fear that they were too foolish or wicked to be able to remain friends with the Enyses, Hugh and his uncle had worried them both. It was an unfounded fear they did not have the power to rid themselves of. They now had the assurance that they were still friends and roundly counseled by these friends that Ross and Dem were in no way to be blamed for the situation. The Poldarks were relieved and happy with the first, never quite relinquishing the last for themselves. "Thank you, Caroline. Thank you Dwight. It was not as hard as I feared... Talking..." said Dem, quietly. Caroline squeezed her hand. "Oh my dear, thank you for being our guests and being such good friends! That you trusted us all enough to speak is an honor I hold dear, Dem." Dwight smiled warmly. "And me too, Dem. They, all three, watched Ross disappear around the side of the building to reach their animals on the Falmouth estate. "I think Ross has taken the news as well as one could do" said Dwight. Dem nodded. "I do not know Ross' father, we didn't get a chance to meet but I know he loved Ross dearly." sighed Dem. "Ross is sad but it _is_ good to know you were loved. Part of being sad is missing the person but you do get to keep the love they gave you..." 'Thy Sweetness, Thy Sweetness, My Sweetness!' "Dem?" Dem startled a little. "Oh! Forgive me, I was miles away..." Caroline let go of her hand. "We'll see you at dinner tonight. We shall talk of happier times! I am fascinated to hear of your art teacher! He certainly trained up the talents he saw in both of you!" Dem smiled as Hugh was approaching the car with Garrick at his heels. "Good morning! I see Ross has reunited with Seamus and his bovine sweetheart!" They all laughed. "Good morning, Hugh. Goodbye, Dwight! Goodbye Caroline!" said Dem. "Thank you both!" said Hugh as he leaned near Dwight's window "We'll see you at dinner!" smiled Hugh. Dem nodded her thanks as Hugh opened the door for her and they all laughed heartily when Garrick leapt into the backseat before Dem could leave the car. "Oh my good boy!" She laughed, taking Garrick's lick of affection on her cheek and happy panting in good grace. Dwight, Caroline and Hugh admired their young friend. Red curls and her smile and her playful wrestling with her dog flashing in bright movements of happiness. She hugged Garrick with a loving grin and slapped her thigh. "Come on, Garrick! Come on!" She exited the car and the Enyses waved goodbye as Hugh and Dem romped with the dog towards the villa and waved goodbye in return as Garrick barked his goodbye happily. There was something in both Ross and Dem that allowed true happiness to pierce through so many hardships. They could not be seen as Pollyannas. They faced their sadnesses and pain head on but with a clear eyed need to remain able to be happy, feel happiness and meet the causes and gifts of happiness when they came in a spirit of gratitude. Remarkable people.

The cook and the servants gave Ross hugs and sincere condolences as they resumed eating lunch together once more. Ross thanked them and, after lunch was over, he and Dem spent time sitting on the floor by the oven playing with Tabitha Bethia and her new friends, the kitchen cats who took her to their bosom as much as everyone the Poldarks met in Italy had done. The cook baked a custard tart which they all enjoyed, the radio played the hit parade at a low volume, the servants went back to their tasks with a smile and a wave. The cats vied for attention and the pleasant pastime of playing with cats in a cosy kitchen with the cook humming quietly and the crisp sound of her snapping beans to prepare them later on was indicative of all that Ross and Dem had come to love in Positano, in their dear folly and all of the friends they made. In Paris with Brose, with their pals in the streets. The woman's dormitory in the growers compound, so many women from different places who all had the same capacity to nurture with Garance at the helm. So many people who proved that language, age and one's station in life were no barriers to good fellowship, friendship and love. Life held pain. Life held disappointments and people with bad intentions. The Poldarks bore their share of pain, of mistreatment. They knew what darker things were possible in this big wide world. But they had been continually blessed by situations in which they were given the gift of love, of protection, of respect and concern for their well being. They had ever been the recipients of love. Love is not a possession to hoard. You give it away. It is a blessing and a balm for love can beget more love. For every lash that marred Dem's back. For every disappointment that caused Ross to lose his way in Cornwall. For every fright they received at the hands of cruel people. For all these true things that so tortured the Poldarks, apart and together in their young lives, love had been a balm. Ross smiled at Dem as he held the brindled cat and Tabitha Bethia and the black cat rubbed against Dem, all three cats purring and relishing the attention. Ross' face was still shadowed with grief. He was still able to smile. Ross and Dem looked to each other, seated on the floor of a cosy kitchen, in Italy, playing with cats. They still bore a star on their ring fingers. Still wore their wedding rings on a chain beneath their clothes. Still able to smile. Still each other's. Dem smiled back. "I love you." whispered Dem. "I love you." whispered Ross. And the cook smiled, contentedly, over her bowl of beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Have And To Hold, Depeche Mode 1987
> 
> I need to be cleansed  
> It's time to make amends  
> For all of the fun  
> The damage is done  
> And I feel diseased  
> I'm down on my knees  
> And I need forgiveness  
> Someone to bear witness  
> To the goodness within  
> Beneath the sin  
> Although I may flirt  
> With all kinds of dirt  
> To the point of disease  
> Now I want release  
> From all this decay  
> Take it away  
> And somewhere  
> There's someone who cares  
> With a heart of gold  
> To have and to hold
> 
> Excerpt from Moral Values and the Experience Of Art, part of a lecture by Howard Taylor at the 12th Annual Conference of the National Committee on Art Education, 1952.
> 
> Pollyanna: an excessively cheerful or optimistic person.
> 
> Still writing...


	37. Know Who You Are At Every Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Kindness

"Dem, let your arm relax. Let it lay on the armrest."

Dem draped her right arm over the armrest of the straw peacock chair. She was facing away from Brose, seated in a twist with her legs to the side with the wide, extravagant back of the chair in front of her face. She was wearing the purple kimono that Ross wore the first night they met Brose. She was not relaxed. Even though it was only Brose and Ross to see, she fretted over the scars on her back. Ross had become used to them. He had seen them when they showered in the growers compound. Brose's eyebrows raised but he made no comment and continued to leave the kimono draped away to reveal a great deal of her back. Ross was near. Brose was a friend. This situation was within a realm of safety for Demelza that she could accept but Dem was very self conscious over her scars and dreaded seeing them rendered by Brose in the drawing. Ross played guitar on the sofa. The ongoing music was a link between him and Dem, a way of being with her even as he was on the sofa and she was seated in the chair. He understood her reluctance to pose for Brose once she realized he meant to expose her back. He saw her frozen between stubbornness in herself that she not want to decline and timidity over the marks on her back. Ross did not intervene. Dem knew her own mind and she did agree, though she was shy to follow his commands. She shrugged the kimono off of her shoulder a little bit but Brose came to her side to arrange it as he wanted. The edge of her shoulder was not enough to his mind. Brose stilled over her, briefly, to see the scars as he arranged the robe away from her back. Dem was not troubled over her breasts being exposed, she faced away from him and her jeans were on, she was not entirely nude beneath the kimono. She worried over the state of her back. Would he want to draw a back as ugly as hers? Brose draped the kimono so her back and right arm were exposed, an elegant curve draped from her left shoulder to her right elbow, and went back to his easel. He was gentle, polite. He did not hover over her more than was necessary, spoke firmly but not in an abrupt way. "Just sit like that, Dem. Stay still." He drew. Bit by bit Dem leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Ross turned to see her. The slope of a breast was just visible at the edge of the kimono. She was young and Dem's breasts were not very large. Ross and Dem were used to each other's nudity from their time at the growers compound. The showers were communal in a huge room with drains in the floor. Seeing her posed in an artistic manner, among Brose's artistic clutter in the studio made Dem seem a bit larger than life, at a remove. Elevated to 'ART' proper. Ross played a gentle accompaniment. Brose worked in deep concentration, looking like a bird of prey as he watched Dem and the paper in front of him back and forth, determined to capture Dem's image and conquer the page. Ross found that interesting as well. Brose's energies were concentrated between his hand and his eye and the vision before him. It was a like a dance though it was only the arm, the hand that moved. Even his head was quite still. His eyes were fast moving. From Ross' vantage point he could see them shift as the whites of his eyes flashed. An occasional squint framing the blank edge of Brose's eye. The magic was tangible, thought Ross. Perhaps it is not unattainable, this magic, capturing images on a page of paper as if they were quite real. Magic one could wield if you could get your eye and your hand to agree with each other. Brose worked over his paper much like Ross played guitar. Coaxing what sounds he wanted by pressing and plucking and strumming the strings, knowing he was capable of in his timing and bringing forward the notes Ross wanted. Could he draw like that...? If he tried...? Dem felt the prickle of the straw, woven in a stiff repeat of diamonds on the back of the rattan chair, press against her forehead. It felt taut and hard, like little matchsticks. She closed her eyes. The matrons lay her on her front in the maternity ward of the home for it served as their infirmary too. They had to cut her blouse away. Portions of it had stuck to her back. Soaked through and dried. They lay her on her front and told other girls that saw her there, throughout the day, day after day, that her father strove to beat sin out of Dem. Dem, said the matrons, was to be pitied. Her father's weakness for drink had addled his responsibility to use the rod for correction and brought forth the girl's injuries. He had gone too far. If her father had the presence of mind to correct Dem with less severity, she would not have needed to be placed in the home. Her father's behavior was seen as an unfortunate extremity of worthy chastisement, proof of his ill bred, congenital incapablity of self control -in drink, in violence- and a mark of Demelza's inferior genetics. A rod and a reprimand impart wisdom. He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes. Tom Carne, in the commonplace ignorance of the lower class, was too fond of the bottle, was no better than he ought to be. His daughter may yet redeem herself in good, honest work, even as she was so low born. Tom Carne had erred. Demelza deserved being beaten, just not this much...

"Dem, lift your chin back like it was, my little. Up more. Yes, stay like that..."

Dem corrected her self. She expected to find diamond shapes pressed in her forehead from the imprint of the chair. Brose was right, she had not begun with her forehead on the back of the chair. Ross was still playing. He sensed her mood for he started up "Boys and Girls Come Out To Play" and it made her smile. Ross saw Dem wilt a bit. Droop a bit. She rested her forehead on the back of the chair, perhaps without realizing it. Brose reminded her to lift her chin and even from Ross' vantage point he could see her face was sad. Dem had saved his life but the trauma of their treatment at the hands of those men, the incident with the gun was upsetting for both of them. Dem often sank into unhappy thoughts sometimes. Ross blushed to think he had problems. His seemed like nothing compared to Dem's. Ross had been running about wild, aimless. Papa had left him too much alone, they swung between ignoring each other and arguing in bitterness. Ross was rebellious but Papa was never violent. Dem had been beaten by her father and sent to the Home. Her troubles were worse than the life he had. They both lost their mothers but Dem had much more pain in her life. Brose did not comment on the scars. He was good at drawing. The drawings in his sketchbooks looked very true to life. Every little bit in detail. Ross hoped Dem would not be upset by the drawing. Brose would draw very realistic looking scars... Ross played "Boys And Girls Come Out To Play" a song he knew well. He played it in the afternoon, in England, when mums and nursemaids brought young children back from school. They often left a coin in his guitar case because the children would clap and skip and sing along and he was seen by them as a conduit of that happiness. Dem liked to hear it. It made her happy and a bit hopeful. She could pretend that she was a happy child, without cares and play and laugh and share a halfpenny bun. In some ways that is what happened, how she and Ross lived until the incident in Marseilles. Two friends together sharing a life and being happy. That can be once more, couldn't it? Brose was helping them get back on their feet and they could be friends on the road once more...

Brose worked in a steady confidence, watching Dem intently, apart from the task of rendering her in pencil. She had been beaten. The marks were healed but the abuse had been extreme. You would not treat an animal the way Dem had been treated. He saw her conflict over wanting to pose without considering the reason. One might see Brose's request as classically traditional in an artistic sense or immoral from the differences in their ages. A fine line between the chaste innocence in the body of a child and the prurient ogling of a young girl, depending on one's point of view. He draped the kimono back to reveal a harsh landscape and felt her flinch, inwardly, she did not move but a dampening of spirit decended upon her. Her expectation that he cover her back up, that her back was too grotesque to draw brought the sweet sort of optimism he'd so often seen in Dem to wilt. He did not. He draped the kimono as he intended. He worked as he intended. He watched her form droop, sunk into distressing memories perhaps. Brose would not coddle her. Dem was corrected back into position as he would demand any of his models. She lifted her head. She still seemed alright. Brose was watchful that she not become upset. They would see this pose through if she was willing to continue. A bloom in her cheek at the edge of her hair. A smile. The boy played an upbeat song on the guitar and she smiled. Brose rubbed the paper with his eraser at her cheek to correct it anew. The edge of a smile. Ross might have hugged her, the song had cheered her so. They were very in tune with each other. Not a wonder as they lived in each other's pockets. Brose imagined they'd grown up together and quit their hometown for adventure. Her injuries brought a darker layer to his narrative for them. Good children in bad circumstances... He darkened the shading at her hair and the light behind the peacock chair was heightened by darkening the right lower sides of the rattan diamonds, the right hand of all catching the shadows. Lighten the left, darken the right...

"Rest, Dem. You may get up now."

Dem turned in the seat and gave Brose a hopeful smile. "Did I do right? Did I behave as a model is meant to? You aren't ashamed of me...?" Brose knit his brows. "The English are said to apologize for everything but that is the strangest way of asking 'Did I do right' I have ever heard." he smiled. "Yes, my little. You posed as any model should do." Ross piped up cheerfully. "Yes Dem! You looked like a proper model!" And Dem smiled. It cheered Brose to see her grin, her breasts obscured by the sides of the kimono but her navel winking over the waist band of her boys jeans. Her red hair picking out the orange fans in the repeated design of the robe to greater effect. Her long fingers, her long feet. The slenderness of her framed by the opulence of the peacock chair, eyes gleaming with friendship. Can a grown man find friendship with a child. Yes, thought Brose. 'These two are good eggs...' he thought. Ross put his guitar to the side, let it rest on the sofa. He walked up to Dem and offered his hand. She blinked at him in a sudden nervousness, her mood so changeable. Ross would accompany her to the easel. He would stand by her as she saw Brose's drawing of her. She searched Ambrose's face, briefly. He said she had done well. She would see the end result. She stood, exchanging a look. 'I'm scared...' said Dem. 'I'm here...' said Ross. And Brose was charmed by their silent conversation, clear as if they'd spoken aloud. Good friends. He watched them come to stand alongside him hoping she would not think ill of his presumption. "Oh!" Dem covered her mouth with her hands and stared. It was as if another Dem had not moved from her seat, had remained in the peacock chair with her long fingers in an elegant drape over the armrest and her hair shone in the afternoon light. This Demelza had the soft suggestion of a smile though one could not see her face and the folds of the kimono with its shadows and pretty pattern collapsed in its creases draped to the side of a cool, bare back. Shadowed bones that leant a look of realism and framed by the elegance of the woven chair to a back with no scars at all. "Oh!" she said again and she looked to Brose suddenly tearful. "Oh, Brose... It's..." Dem began to sniff wetly. "It's lovely!" Ross put his arm around her and Brose was struck again at how in tune they were with each other. The look of concern and tentative happiness on Ross' face. Happy that the scars were removed in the drawing and waiting to she the extent of Dem's reaction, that he be prepared help her was so clear on his face. Brose could see the feelings in Ross' face. The wish to help his friend. They were a team. She looked to Ross with a tearful gratitude, exchanging encouraging smiles even as Dem as was crying. This Dem was very beautiful... Brose sighed. "Do not mistake me, Dem." She looked at Brose once more, wiping her eyes. "I see every part of you. We are the masters of our craft. There are times for realism. There are times for design, for exercising one's control over the art. I do not ignore your pain, my little, I see you..." Dem blinked back tears as he continued. "We decide what to shadow and what to lighten. We choose what to accentuate and what to diminish. We can show what we choose, we can make the drawing become a different reality. I have done that today. I see both Dems but I see you most of all. You are beautiful Dem. You do not deserve the treatment you received. You see your back in this picture, here, as it was made, your bones, your form but the scars are missing." She nodded. "You are one and the same, Dem. You are beautiful, right here, as you stand here, and the scars you bear do not define you. They are there, my little, and you are a beautiful girl." She nodded, sniffing again and Ross keeping close to her. Ross and Dem admired Brose's drawing and Dem hugged Ross as they stood in front of the easel. Brose stepped away to put the kettle on the hotplate. He had gone to Mariage Frères and bought a ceramic tea pot and tea for his English cats. He leaned up against the counter, arms folded with a sphinx smile watching Dem and Ross embrace in front of the easel. Looking at the drawing and being friends. His arm around the bright kimono, her arms around him in their blue jeans and their long hair and the halo of their very loyal friendship. The kettle whistled. Brose, a lifelong coffee fiend, made a point of asking the shop assistant how to make proper tea. He thought warming the pot first was a strange almost fetishistic step but he put the water in the pot, to warm it, and boiled fresh water in the kettle again. Dem went behind the screen to put her shirt back on. Ross and Dem, he at the easel, her behind the screen, sniffed the air. Dem's face popped around the screen in surprise. "Brose! Are you making tea?!" He looked from one to the other. It might have been Christmas morning to look at them smiling. "Yes." said Ambrose in his dry, droll way. "I asked the man in the shop 'How does one make the proper English tea and he promised me these were the correct steps. You will have to tell me if I have erred!" They came to the table and sat. Dem's eyes were red but she was happy again. Ross smiled between them. The smiles bounced between all three of them. Brose had an elegant sieve, also purchased at the shop, and poured out two cups of tea into pretty china cups from the flea market. The milk was fresh enough not to curdle in the heat of the tea and Brose brought the packet of sugar, that only saw use for cocoa, down from the shelf so they could sugar their tea. Ross and Dem stirred their tea with their spoons and both had smiles so wide the act of swallowing the drink might be impaired. He watched them closely for any sign that the tea was ill prepared or not to their liking. "Mmmmmm..." Eyes closed, in enjoyment of a very well made cup of tea, Ross and Demelza relaxed into a happy sigh. "Good?" asked Brose. "Very good, Brose!" said Ross. "Wonderful!" sighed Dem. "Ha!" Brose sounded self satisfied. "I have conquered the English tea. A knighthood is surely within my grasp now!" They had a good laugh and more tea. When Ross sat on the sofa and picked up his guitar once more Brose asked, "What was that song you played, that nursery song?" Dem sitting on the arm of the sofa grinned. She looked to Ross. "A one, a two, a three!"

Boys and girls come out to play,  
The moon doth shine as bright as day,  
Leave your supper,  
and leave your sleep,  
And come with your playfellows into the street.  
Come with a whoop, come with a call,  
Come with a good will, or not at all.  
Up the ladder and down the wall,  
A halfpenny bun will serve us all.

Brose chuckled. The song was cute and Dem's mood had lightened. They sat near, sang and played very well and the cheerful song was a tonic twice today with the second go giving Ambrose a better understanding of why. Ross and Dem who shouldered many painful realities in their life had a right to their innocence and joy. This song was a good reminder of that.

"Very charming..." said Brose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know Who You Are At Every Age, Cocteau Twins 1993
> 
> It seems things are indicative to,  
> A distinct desire to  
> Observe such,  
> Heal such  
> Behave such that makes this hard for me  
> I'm not real and I deny, I won't heal unless I cry  
> I can't grieve, so I won't grow, I won't heal 'til I let it go  
> I'm not real and I deny, I won't heal unless I cry  
> It seems things are indicative to,  
> A distinct desire to  
> Observe such,  
> Heal such  
> Behave such that makes this hard for me  
> I'm not real and I deny, I won't heal unless I cry  
> I can't grieve, so I won't grow, I won't heal 'til I let it go  
> I can't grieve, so I won't grow, I won't heal 'til I let it go  
> Cry, cry, cry 'til you know why, I lost myself, identify  
> Cry, cry, cry 'til you know why, I lost myself, identify  
> I'm not real and I deny, I won't heal unless I cry  
> I can't grieve, so I won't grow, I won't heal 'til I let it go
> 
> A rod and a reprimand impart wisdom: Proverbs 29
> 
> He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes: Proverbs 13
> 
> "Boys And Girls Come Out To Play" was also played by Blue/Malcolm after he lost a drinking game and had to busk nursery rhymes in Lower Manhattan in the chapter "What Dreams Are Made Of" in "New Career In A New Town". The line, "A halfpenny bun will serve us all" started seeding currant buns throughout the series. In "Candy And A Currant Bun" Malcolm is the village baker and sells Ross and Dem a sugar bun, a currant bun with a sugar crust and a candied violet on top. In the main story, currant buns are baked frequently enough that a tin of them is usually on the kitchen table in Nampara. Jud helps himself to one in the chapter "The Look Of Love" in "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?" Prudie frets over feeding Ross one in the chapter "Bro Goth Agan Tasow" in "All Tomorrow's Parties" Jeremy is irritated to be given one instead of chocolate digestives in "Good Lovin'" Dem spends some of her nervous energy kneading the dough for them in the chapter "Tell Me Something Good" in "Gimme Shelter" and they probably popped up a couple more times that aren't coming to me at the moment... 
> 
> Still writing...


	38. Vincent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trial by fire

"You broke into his studio?!" asked Dwight, astonished. Ross shrugged, smiling. "We had been under a bridge for days." Ross spoke coolly, breaking his bread to mop up the juices on his plate. He looked around the table, pausing before he popped the piece of bread in his mouth. "We didn't know how to manage then. I was fed up and wanted to get out of the rain for awhile..." Dem chimed in, gesturing with her wine glass. "It had been raining for days. Like Noah's Ark!" They were enjoying their dinner with Lord Falmouth and talk turned to the Poldarks meeting the person who taught them art. Hugh, Dwight and Caroline looked at each other in a brief unspoken consultation. Talk was lighter this night, having gotten past Ross and Dem's ordeal in Marseilles but within this period, in their story, they would have just escaped it. They would have been on the run having shot a policeman and escaped their abduction. The off hand manner in which Ross explained away living on the streets and breaking into a building for shelter's sake possibly glossed over more negative aspects of their situation than they chose to mention. The grown ups agreed to let the tale be told as Ross and Dem saw fit and not question them over the whys and wherefores. They accepted the Poldarks' story as it was told to them, no more, no less. Ross and Dem fell through a skylight, into an artist's studio, and the man they met there agreed let them live with him and to teach them art. Lord Falmouth, who watched between all five of them at his table in interest, cut his meat as he asked, "And this Brose fellow? He had no issue with you staying there? You lived in that garret studio?" Ross and Dem nodded. The look of pride, pride in having a friend who looked after them and taught them how to draw was plain on their faces. "Brose let us stay the whole winter, into spring, and he helped us learn to draw when the weather was poor and we couldn't go out to busk!" said Dem as Ross nodded his agreement. "And you had no training up to that point?" asked Hugh. "You both draw so well! Had you no training before this gentleman taught you?" Ross looked bashful. "I had eyes for nothing but my guitar..." Dem smiled with the same shyness. "I liked to read, I used to go to the library a lot after school and look at books. I didn't draw either..." They shared a smile. "No," said Ross in a satisfied way, Dem mirroring it and a look between them of sharing happy memories. "No, we had not drawn ourselves or considered the idea that we even could. If you had seen our first attempts it would have been plain that we were babes in the woods!"

"I have something for you... For you both." Ross and Dem looked up from their reading to see Brose retrieve a crisp, flat paper bag from a shelf near the door. Mimi crossed the room to sit on the cushion in the peacock chair, watching the exchange with interest. As he came near he slipped the bag away from two hardbound sketchbooks in his hand. The children sat up a little straighter looking up at Brose with a frisson of excitement. The sketchbooks were just like the ones he worked in. "A book for you, to practice your drawing." said Brose as he handed them each a book. Ross and Dem held the sketchbooks with a sense of reverence. They looked at the books and each other with a happy smile. "Thank you!" said Ross. "Thank you, Brose!" said Dem. Brose looked at them with the dry half smile they had become used to. "You are welcome. The weather will get colder. You will be indoors and it will be a good opportunity to learn. You can never be at loose end if you can draw. There is always challenge in it and enjoyment too, I daresay..." Dem opened up hers and drew her hand across the pages. The paper felt silky and grainy at the same time. Ross opened his. He was excited and a bit nervous. The expanse of blank paper demanded filling. He couldn't draw like Brose could. Ross was determined not to waste these pages and frightened that he would, frightened he would fill it full of childish looking pictures. "Ross, do you not like it?" asked Brose, watching Ross look at it with a bit of consternation. Ross looked up quickly, that Brose not think he disliked it. "Oh no! I do! I do very much, I just worry that you spent your money on this and it will all be wasted..." "Wasted? Why would that be?" Brose smiled kindly. Ross looked to Dem and back to Brose, sheepishly. "It's so a fine book it seems a pity to give it to me! My drawings wouldn't be good enough for a book this nice!" Brose smiled. "You will learn to draw, sir. You will learn not to be so precious in your sketchbook as well! This book is for you to learn, not a art book or a gallery catalog! You will make pictures that help you learn and once it is filled you will see that each one has strengthened you, even if you find them primitive." Dem smiled. It was a very grand way of being, very posh to treat an elegant book like this in such a casual way. She was as nervous as Ross in that respect but Brose's attitude was one that might be worth following. To treat this wonderful book, so like a _proper_ book as a tool without agonizing over it. To learn and even fail sometimes but accept that and accept it and work to do better without freezing in doubt. To make the sketchbook a trusted friend. To trust it to help you and let it take the smooth and the rough. Not run away from the rough, feel discouraged over poor attempts or cling to the smooth, laud a good attempt as best and fear duplicating them. A book to practice. A book to learn with. Ross smiled. Brose did not see any reason for Ross to be timid and gave him permission to learn by degrees, not snap his fingers and magic the sort of drawings that came so easily to Brose from the start. As if Ambrose had read his thoughts he said. "You think I hatched out of the egg? I just started drawing like I do?" Brose went off, walked to the other side of the room to a chest of very thin drawers. They slid out as one would to hold clothes but they were shallow. Four inches high and stacked one on top of the other. He rummaged in one of the lower drawers. From where they sat they had cause to admire Brose. He was slim for his age, no paunch in his belly no thickening at the waist. He had a cat like grace in his movements, no heaving or holding his back. He was spry. He was a magical sort of person for they had not met anyone like him before. He was his own sort of fellow. Did things his own way. He was generous and spoke to them in a sense of equality. He was a grown up and he seemed willing to treat Ross and Dem as children on the one hand and potential grown ups on the other. He met them at the age they were but treated them with one eye on the older selves they couldn't quite see in themselves yet. He saw them as able to draw. Spoke of it as an inevitability. He saw some future Ross and Dem that worked with the same confidence he possessed over two kids holding their first sketchbooks. He believed in them... He stood and brought a sheaf of papers in his hands. "See, here." said Brose. "My moeder kept these..." He lay the papers on the floor. Ross and Dem set their books aside and looked through seven or eight pencil sketches, of windmills on a distant hill, a strange vase that spread out individual tulips in its top like a row of ceramic chimneys, a bowl of apples, a cat, more drawings of landscapes. Drawings that showed a precocious talent but... No... Not the well honed effortless realism they had come to be used to in Brose's drawings. The effortless realism that they did believe Brose just did naturally was a talent honed from practice. "You will draw and learn," said Brose. "You will think, 'I should fix that', 'I shall do different next time', You will think these things. That is good. You will better yourself and learn. But you must not be too hard on yourselves. You must not think too harshly. You will learn for each time you draw you grow stronger." They nodded. They looked up at Ambrose and resolved to heed his counsel.

"Who are these rugrats?!"

The dark haired model looked at Ross and Dem, in jeans, in tee shirts, barefoot, sitting cross legged on the floor, sketchbooks open on their laps, and took off her shirt before waiting for the answer. She spoke in French but the comment did not sound ill tempered. She stood before all of them in her panties and nothing else, as relaxed as if she was on a beach and tossed the blouse to land on the pile of her other clothes. Brose walked to her with a clean, white sheet in his hands and a laurel wreath made of plastic hanging over his arm. He answered in French. "Ah! These are my students. They are quiet as mice. They will draw and not trouble you..." She laughed a light, brassy sort of a laugh. "Will I be paid three times more?" Brose rolled his eyes. "You are benefiting their education." said Brose as he draped a sheet in a Grecian manner around her. He brought over a plaster column, about four feet high and made to look as if it had broken off of an ancient building, and posed her to lay her hands on the top. "Think what a wonderful person you are, for giving three times the value!" Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. He set the laurel wreath on her head. Ross and Dem looked to each other and were at a loss of how to begin. Drawing this woman seemed impossible. "Ross. Dem." They looked to Brose. "I shall be with you in a moment..." He turned to the model and, again, spoke in French. "Twenty minute pose, then ten and ten. Alright?" She nodded. "Look to your right." said Brose as the model listened to what he required. "Your young man has come back from the war and you are happy." said Ambrose in French. Ross and Dem marveled at the model's face changing entirely. She looked in the distance, even as she stood in a room and looked loving, as if someone she loved was walking towards her. Brose looked her up and down. "Good, very good..." He walked over to Ross and Dem. "Draw as you please, try not to erase. See what is possible. She will pose for you twice in a little bit." They nodded, still apprehensive. Brose sketched quickly, he worked within twenty minutes and made loose drawings of her pose in the margins of his paper, drawing her face with care in the center. The column, her wistful face, the drape and shadows of the cloth around her brought to life on the paper in a series of studies that caught the light, established her form in general way and a quite realistic face in the center. "Rest, my dear. Thank you." The model, in a blink, became a modern person once more. She came around to look at Ross and Dem's drawings. Brose, knowing her to be a sarcastic sort, warned her in French. "Don't tease! They are just learning." She blinked agreement that they were neophytes and kept her own council. He came over to see how they had gotten on. They looked at him, shy and uncertain how he would react. The attemps were not proportioned in a realistic way. They were clunky. They also had a precocious sense of shading on Dem's and a good likeness in the face on Ross'. The children were self conscious and timid but there were strong glimmers of draftmanship in these first attempts. He smiled. They smiled. 'He seems happy...' they thought. 'Perhaps they are not so bad...' they thought. "Keep to the facing page," said Brose. "She will return to pose and you will sketch her twice, yes?" They nodded. After a walk about and a stretch or two the model returned to pose by the column. Brose stood behind Ross and Dem. In French he said, "Two ten minute poses, my dear. Use your arms. Be dynamic." He squatted down between them and waited for her to pose. She stood with her feet apart and raised both arms as if she was begging someone to listen to her. "Ten minutes for this pose..." he took his pencil and made a quick line down each of their pages at a diagonal slant. "Draw her along that line, hands here," he gestured to the top, "Feet here, don't worry over her face so much, capture the movement..." They both frowned. This woman was stock still. He smiled. "What is she doing, who is she speaking to? She is still for you but she is acting too. Capture the movement..." They worked to follow his instructions. They were seeing aspects of what he meant, and tried to do as he said. After ten minutes she relaxed from the pose. He brought a chair for her to rest a foot on. "Draw your own line." said Brose. "Draw your own boundary and capture the movement..." Ross and Dem did as they were bid and worked for ten minutes.

"He threw you into the deep end!" said Lord Falmouth. And they all had a good laugh. "Yes," said Demelza. "We were flailing with it but it was good that he did that..." Ross nodded. "Brose set our expectations to draw from life right away, right at the start! He gave us wooden cubes and oranges," Dem laughed to interject, "And a plaster foot!" Ross crinkled his eyes with mirth, nodding. "And a plaster foot! He gave us proper exercises too but he made us draw figures from the start and it helped us understand how to do it by doing!" Caroline grinned. The affection and pride in their learning, the gratitude to their teacher was so very clear. They went to the library and talked more of their apprenticeship. Hugh and his uncle, Caroline and Dwight were fascinated to hear more as well as happy. The Poldarks were brimful of happy tales about life in an artist's garret and their teacher's instruction. It was lovely to see Ross and Dem in a good mood and untroubled after such heavy, distressing stories at the Enyses. Ross and Dem were in the enjoyable position of being able to explain this period of time in their life to other people. They had not done so before and being able to reminisce was fun for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vincent, Don McLean 1971
> 
> Starry, starry night  
> Paint your palette blue and grey  
> Look out on a summer's day  
> With eyes that know the darkness in my soul  
> Shadows on the hills  
> Sketch the trees and the daffodils  
> Catch the breeze and the winter chills  
> In colors on the snowy linen land  
> Now I understand  
> What you tried to say to me  
> And how you suffered for your sanity  
> And how you tried to set them free  
> They would not listen, they did not know how  
> Perhaps they'll listen now  
> Starry, starry night  
> Flaming flowers that brightly blaze  
> Swirling clouds in violet haze  
> Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue  
> Colors changing hue  
> Morning fields of amber grain  
> Weathered faces lined in pain  
> Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand  
> Now I understand  
> What you tried to say to me  
> And how you suffered for your sanity  
> And how you tried to set them free  
> They would not listen, they did not know how  
> Perhaps they'll listen now  
> For they could not love you  
> But still your love was true  
> And when no hope was left in sight  
> On that starry, starry night  
> You took your life, as lovers often do  
> But I could have told you, Vincent  
> This world was never meant for one  
> As beautiful as you  
> Starry, starry night  
> Portraits hung in empty halls  
> Frameless heads on nameless walls  
> With eyes that watch the world and can't forget  
> Like the strangers that you've met  
> The ragged men in the ragged clothes  
> The silver thorn, a bloody rose  
> Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow  
> Now I think I know  
> What you tried to say to me  
> And how you suffered for your sanity  
> And how you tried to set them free  
> They would not listen, they're not listening still  
> Perhaps they never will
> 
> moeder: mother
> 
> And a plaster foot: plaster casts of body parts were often used for drawing exercises
> 
> Still writing...


	39. Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day out

"Ross! Dem!" The Poldarks looked up from their scrubbing. Ross pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and then waved to Hugh as he walked towards them. Dem sat back on her knees, still clutching a milk bucket. The knees of their jeans were grubby. They looked like farm hands this morning. "Good morning, Hugh!" Hugh smiled. "Good morning both of you! It is short notice but Caroline called to ask if we would join her and Dwight in town. She wanted to look for a dress to wear to dinner tonight and thought you might like to have one too, Dem." Demelza's eyes went wide. "Oh! Well..." she looked to Ross who was caught in the same conundrum. Ross and Dem had little ready cash to shop for a new dress. Hugh spoke again. "Caroline was insistent that you be her guest, Dem. If you find a dress that pleases you she will purchase it along with hers." Dem's eyes were still wide. Her smile widened too. "Oh! That would be lovely!" She and Ross nodded their agreement as Hugh continued. "And we shall find a nice place to cool our heels with Dwight while they shop, Ross." Ross grinned. "That sounds good, Hugh. Will we leave soon?" Hugh nodded. "Yes. Have you more to do with the animals?" asked Hugh. Ross shook his head. "We are nearly finished here, it won't take long to freshen ourselves up..." Hugh nodded. "About a half an hour?" They nodded. "Right! Meet me out front when you are ready..."

Demelza waved to Caroline from the car window as they came to a stop outside an elegant boutique. Ross and Dem had not explored the areas where the rich vacationers shopped. The thoroughfare was a sparkling paradise of well appointed shops of all kinds. No street children played here. No open air sellers shouting about their marvelous bargains to passersby. Doormen in smart uniforms stood by the various shops to hold open the doors. Awnings and pretty display windows showed off elegant wares. Caroline wore a halter neck sun dress in a vividly patterned floral and red open toed heels. It was casual and dressy at the same time and made Dem's blue dress and shoes look quite at home. "Hello!" said Caroline as Dem fell into her hug, a warm embrace. Caroline gathered up Dem's hands in hers. "I'm glad you've come! This shop comes highly recommended in our guide book!" "Thank you for having me along, Caroline! I haven't been in a shop like this before..." Caroline smiled. There was a hint of nerves and excitement in Dem's voice. She turned to Dwight. "You boys will have to entertain yourselves for two hours at least! I intend to shop for England this afternoon!" Dwight kissed Caroline's hand and bowed to both of them. "Your wish is my command. Hugh has a place in mind for Ross and I to idle away our time like proper gentry." Dwight sat where Dem had been and all three men waved goodbye as Hugh's car glided away from the pavement. The ladies shared a conspiratorial smile and, arm in arm, allowed the doorman to sweep the entrance open for its two newest clients. The foyer was light blue wth ornate rococo gilt mirrors, slender and long, hung in pairs on the walls. Sconces lit the area with discreet charm. There was a pleasant powdery scent of perfume in the air and frothy arrangements of cut flowers in towering pedestal vases on either side of a diminutive, dark haired woman with a crisp, white coat buttoned over her dress, like a scientist of fashion. She greeted them in English. "Good afternoon," Caroline nodded with a sphinx like smile as Dem said, "Good afternoon!" The receptionist smiled at Dem's cheerful greeting. 'How sweet, and so young! She must be a newlywed...' she thought. "Please come this way, Mrs. Enys. Mrs. Poldark."

Ross looked all around, much like when he came to the Enyses' villa for the first time. This place was less a restaurant or a cafe and more like a private club. The men here were closer to Lord Falmouth's age but a few had been at Count Schön's castle the night of the party and they raised their cigars and snifters to the youngsters in a friendly manner. Hugh led Dwight and Ross to the men that recognized them and after shaking hands and exchanging their greetings moved on to a second floor room that served tea and coffee and had newspapers from many different countries as well as the Italian ones. There were leather chairs so well upholstered one might curl up and sleep in them. Hugh chose a bright window in the corner of the room. A waiter with a cloth over his arm as white as snow scurried over to take their requests and scurried to an unseen place to bring them tea and scones. Dwight was impressed as was Ross. A cozy place to put up one's feet and catch up on English newspapers only week out of date. Alcohol and cigars if you wanted. Tea and scones if you wanted. A hushed, very male atmosphere. Hugh grinned. "We're on the younger end but I've been coming to Uncle's club since I was nine." Dwight pulled a Times from a nearby rack. Ross looked expectantly at the marvelous tiered cake stand coming their way and Hugh smiled to see Ross have the same look of excitement he used to when he would be brought here for a whisper of home, a proper tea in Uncle's club. The waiter brought scones and cream with pots of jam and a second man carried a silver tray with a teapot and cups. "I could get used to this!" said Dwight. "Me too!" said Ross eyeing the currant speckled scones. They talked of the news of the day as Dwight leafed through the paper. They ate their scones and drank their tea. The sun streamed through the staid velvet curtains at the windows and made the leather chairs and old wood glow with the patina of age and old money. Dwight did not think much of older doctors who brayed incessantly about meeting so and so at their private clubs. He had no first hand experience of them. He could admit it was pleasant. The friendly attitude of the members here was less fusty than he would have thought. Ross liked this place. It was nice to sit in a quiet place. Pubs and cafes with sprawling chats from table to table, good natured arguments, even fights sometimes. Things happening all the time was what Ross had been used to. This quiet place was very relaxing. Ross took a scone and was about to say as much to his companions when George Warleggan was shown into the club room and sat diagonal to them. He had not seen them. Ross' eyes widened enough it made Hugh turn to see what surprised him. He turned back with a look of annoyance. Dwight looked at Hugh's face and laughed, not understanding the issue. "Your face will stay that way when the wind changes, Hugh!" chuckled Dwight. At that George turned around. 'Oh, for pity's sake! Will I never be free of these people?!' thought George. He said. "Ah! I was told this was an exclusive club. I should have guessed I'd have the pleasure of seeing you lot once more..." Dwight looked between Ross and Hugh. A problem to be sure. Ross looked as if he would like to claw George's face off and Hugh looked like he would do so. The anger in both their faces was palpable. "Hugh..." began Dwight. Hugh took a deep breath. "No, Dwight. I shall not start trouble." He smiled at Ross. A smile of sympathy, empathy. "We are bigger men, are we not, Ross?" Ross scowled but nodded 'yes'. George turned to look about the room. Dwight had the Times. Ross swallowed down the desire to pay George back for his harassment and returned to dressing his scone with cream and jam. With a smidgen of malice, George, like any other man who might request a section of a communal newspaper, got up and approached their table. "I come in peace," said George in a voice dripping with contempt. "May I have the business section, if you are not in need of it?" Dwight, who felt acquiescence would keep the peace, nodded and began to separate the paper. Ross glowered over his scone. This man tried to get them arrested and sent his men to scare them out of their home. Dwight handed the newspaper section as Hugh looked between George and Ross in a stony silence. "Thank you." said George. Dwight nodded, eyes darting between Ross and George and Hugh. He held the newspaper section but did not move to return to his seat. George turned his attention to Ross. "I trust your chicken is well, bereaved over its friends I should think... I'm told they didn't get your dog?" Hugh turned to look at George. "Leave. Immediately." said Hugh, his voice raised in warning. Ross frowned. He put the scone on his plate. "Your men frightened my wife." he said quietly. Ross' eyes were nearly black with anger. He sat still but Ross also seemed to be hovering in his seat, shaking with anger. George smirked. "Ross..." Dwight had a tenor of warning in his voice. Hugh was angry. Ross was angry. Dwight was angry but sought to defuse the situation. George could not resist goding them. "I think..." began Hugh as George said, "I'm told they didn't get your bitch either..."

Caroline chose a pale blue dress with a draped neckline and a well tailored sheath that stopped above the knee, showing her figure to perfection. Dem, having narrowed her choice between a peach colored satin cocktail dress and a dark green day dress that retained enough glamour to wear at dinner threw caution to the wind and picked the lighter color. It was fancy and pale and it was delicious. Demelza so often chose clothes with a practical eye, -does it show dirt?, can I climb in it? is it sturdy?- the happiness of choosing a pretty dress so frivolous was cheering. The women showing them gowns insisted that she looked like dream in it. Caroline said she looked divine. Dem saw herself in the full length mirror with two others at its side on hinges. If you swung one closer you could see dozens of yourself in the other one. She did so. Dem looked at a long chorus line of elegant Demelzas in a pale, pretty dress. She looked like an army of delicate princesses. She looked like a girl who didn't worry about getting cagged with dirt. Didn't need to fret about cow dung and garden soil. She loved her life and did not regret it but looking like a princess was a wonderful treat. A pretty dress for best... The boutique had all they required. Fitters who outfitted Demelza in proper undergarments. A charming array of elegant jewelry. Shoes that matched with little heels that tapered like a pin. Caroline even cajoled Dem into a small vial of scent. An eau de toilette with a scent reminiscent of wild flowers. So much like the flowering vines and meadow blossoms near the folly that she sighed with happiness. "Oh Caroline! I shall think of you and our summer together every time I wear it!" Dem's words touched Caroline so near her heart she bought a vial of scent for herself too.

Laden with glossy paper shopping bags Caroline and Demelza left the store chatting and laughing. Caroline saw Hugh's car parked a little way up the street and they walked to exchange passengers. Dwight and Caroline would return to the villa in their car. Demelza would ride back to Lord Falmouth's with Ross and Hugh and they all would meet up again, with Hugh's uncle too, at Count Schön's castle for dinner. Dwight opened the door to exit Hugh's car. A splatter of tea staining his shirt visible as he stood. "Oh Dwight! You are wearing your te..." She gasped. "Tea" died away on her lips as she saw things more clearly. Dwight was disheveled, he had not simply spilled tea on himself. Dem gasped for she had seen the dark bruise on Ross' forehead through the windshield. She pattered up the pavement in her little blue shoes amidst a riot of boutique bags. "Ross! What happened?!" Ross smiled at Dem through the open passenger window. "Let me help you with your bags Dem!" said Ross, cheerfully. She stepped back as Ross left the passenger seat. Demelza and Caroline gasped again. Ross' shirt was ripped, one of the sleeves was nearly off, hanging in a drooping flap barely clinging to the hem under his arm. His forehead had an angry looking bruise. Ross' lip was split and bloody but he was smiling. His pants were ripped and his left knee was stained with cream and jam. The clothes that Ross kept for best were ruined in some sort of fight. "Oh, my goodness! What happened?!" asked Caroline, astonished to see Ross smiling in his condition. They were all smiling as if it were a rich joke. Hugh had reddened marks on his face that were fading and his clothes were marked by tea stains as well.

"I tried to stop it..." smiled Dwight.

"I tried to stop myself..." smiled Ross. Hugh's voice carried from the driver's seat.

"I held the bastard so Ross could punch him again..." smiled Hugh.

They burst into hysterics. Dem looked at Caroline in consternation as well as humor. The boys were invigorated by this scrape. There could only be one person who could provoke both such a fight and such a merry attitude in its conclusion. "You had a fight with George Warleggan!" said Caroline. An astonished statement of fact that all three nodded 'yes' to. Ross opened the car door for Dem, smiling at her, helping to put her shopping in the car. She looked at him struck with wonder. All three of them looked like Hell. All three of them were happy as could be. "What happened, Ross?" smiled Dem. They were so happy and silly with it she could not help smiling too. Dwight took his leave to take Caroline home and get ready for dinner at Count Schön's castle. "See you tonight!" said Dwight. "Will do. Goodbye Caroline!" said Hugh. "Goodbye!" waved Ross. He closed the door to the backseat and resumed his place next to Hugh in front. He did not want to soil Dem's dress or her shopping. Hugh started up the car and they waved as the passed the Enyses walking back to theirs."What happened?" Hugh and Ross exchanged an amused glance. Ross lost that amused look as he answered her.

"George made an offensive remark." said Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel (Motiv I) , From the motion picture soundtrack Tři oříšky pro Popelku , Composer: Karel Svoboda performed by Prague Symphony Orchestra(FOK) 1973  
> Three hazelnuts/Three gifts/Three wishes for Cinderella


	40. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But if you try sometimes you just might find  
> You just might find  
> You get what you need

"Ow!" The cook tut tutted as she pressed a cloth soaked in antiseptic upon the cut by Ross' eye and the maid with more command of English than the cook cheerfully relayed the scolding Ross was receiving. "She says you are as wild as a mad dog and should be better behaved among the gentlemen!" she crowed as she folded kitchen linens and stacked them in a tidy pile at the far side of the table. Dem still in her pretty blue dress sat near Ross' chair on the edge of the thick, sturdy table eyeing Ross' split lip and bruised forehead in dismay. Ross chuckled. "I might have done if George was a gentleman in the first place!" The cook rolled her eyes as the maid and Ross and Dem found more humor in the situation than she did. Ross didn't remember in his life having lost his temper in quite that way before. George's face, George's sneers, his oppressive influence over driving him and Dem from the folly, the sudden remembrance of Dem crying and cowering in his arms as Warleggan's men threatened them, George's taunts and insults had suddenly boiled up into a moment of uncontrollable fury. Hugh entered with his uncle who found the lighter side of this affair as well. "Hugh tells me you've been in parlor games with George Warleggan in the Red Lion Club of all places! I shall be notorious now! Not many can boast of a knock down brawl among their nephew's companions!" Ross was sheepish then, though Lord Falmouth chiding retained a note of merriment. "I am sorry for fighting in your club Lord Falmouth." said Ross under the edge of the cook's cloth. Dem also looked contrite. He looked to Hugh and then smiled warmly at both of them. Ross had made no attempt to avenge on his wife's behalf the night she slapped Warleggan in respect for her own sovereignty. The retribution the man visited on the Poldarks afterwards was cruel and unreasonable. Ross beat the villain soundly, if his nephew was to be believed, when George insulted Demelza afresh. Honor. The Poldarks had a noble sense of honor. That Ross apologized for the sake of his position as a club member showed that both youngsters had more grace and dignity in their pinky fingers than a man like Warleggan had at all. "I should have done the same in your shoes, my boy! You had every right of it. We will have to find something of Hugh's for you to wear tonight, the hour is drawing near to leave for Hugo's..." Ross and Dem smiled, nodded. Hugh grinned. Much the way young children defer to titles for the grown ups in their life, even Hugh would not presume to refer to Count Schön by his first name. That informality was the sole province of "proper" adults. Lord Falmouth smiled at Hugh with affection and left the kitchen. Hugh gave a snort of a laugh. What redness from pressure marks he had received on his face in the altercation had already faded. "Ha! That was more excitement than they'd have had at the Red Lion in years!" The cook glowered at Hugh. Her quick retort had Hugh and the kitchenmaid in stitches. Ross and Dem looked to Hugh to explain. Hugh bowed towards the cook with his hand over his heart. And smiled up at the Poldarks as he stood saying, "She reminded me that, 'Here too, there are smacks.' And that I am not so grown the she couldn't still spank me with her hairbrush!" She finished tiding Ross' injuries with quiet dignity as they all had a good laugh.

George was in a black mood. The fight with the hooligan had left him with a sprained shoulder that made standing upright a chore. George was in pain when he breathed even as the doctor assured him his ribs were not broken. The bruising on his torso was bluish green to purple in various places and he felt tender everywhere. He had intended to put forth his proposal for the land purchase two days from now but the injuries he sustained in his fight with Ross would delay it. Of course they would fight dirty. The other man tried to break it up without success, the little hellcat was determined to have a punch up. He was well matched until Armitage held him fast. The gleem of satisfaction in the miscreant's eye, knowing that George could not move was vicious. And to add insult to injury the club rallied round Armitage and the garden gnome. One should have expected it. George was forever barred from the arcane heights of the upper class. What power, money and influence George wielded he was always barred at the gates of privilege. He was forever seen as an upstart. Privilege had closed its ranks and chosen to side with Lord Falmouth's nephew and his criminally inclined pets, two feral kids little better than animals over George. His status as a businessman, his intent to offer more employment and demand for labor than this backwards area that stank of beggars and fish had seen, ever, all disregarded for no other reason than his pedigree was deemed insufficient. He wouldn't just knock down that stupid folly. He would personally set the damned thing on fire with petrol! He would watch it burn down like bonfire night. Even Lord Falmouth showed dismay at the idea that it be removed. What is it about this damned place that make everyone so drippy and sentimental? Who should even care about a weird shed sprouting out of the ground, in the middle of nowhere, like a cheap, amusement park Taj Mahal? George lay in bed, agonizing over find a way to lay that relieved the pain in his shoulder. The valet lifted a mirror from the wall for George to assess what the scoundrel had done to him. He had a black eye and the small comfort of knowing that the split lip he gave Ross looked worse than the one Ross gave him. Were it not for the pain in his shoulder, from coming down too hard against an upturned chair, and the injuries so plain under his clothes, George might have had satisfaction knowing he marked the boy's face more effectively. The kid had a nasty looking bruise on his forehead, his lip luridly busted up and seemed to injure the side of his own face on something or another. George scowled. Trust a pampered impudent puppy like Armitage to fight two against one, hold George captive to that kid's attack. He grumbled as he rearranged his itinerary in his head. Even marked by a black eye he was still wanting to present his offer himself. He had time. What time he used to heal would make no difference. No others in the area had the desire or the resources to offer for the valley. Time was on his side.

Hugh lent Ross a shirt. Count Schön was not a stickler for agréments. Ross wore his own black denim jeans and the servants restored Ross' boots to a well polished shine. As for Ross' injuries he could do nothing but bear it. Ross could not 'grin and bear it' or the split in his lip would open up again. He had a cut by his eye that threatened to heal as a scar, a dark bruise on his forehead and his lip still weeped a bit if mirth caught him unawares and he smiled too wide. It was a misfortune for Ross that Dem exited the bathroom in her new ensemble of underwear, compelling him to split his lip afresh in the joy of this spectacle. He had seen Dem nude, in y front underwear, like his own, and cotton knickers designed for a girl but quite plain. Dem was wearing a pale pink, matching set of miniscule panties and a brassiere that looked as if fairies wove lace out of dandelion clocks and sewed underthings out of them. "Bother that George!" said Ross rushing to press a tissue to his bottom lip "How dare he split my lip when my Sweetness is dressed like that! He's denied me the happiness of kissing every inch of you! You look incredible, Dem, and you're not even dressed yet!" said Ross in a muffled complaint underneath his tissue. She laughed. "We will have to try again when you're better. Let me see..." she frowned and came forward. She gently put her hand to his and looked under the tissue. Ross watched Dem looking over his lip, scantily clad in her underclothes and very alluring. She sighed. "It wants to heal. You're just going to have to be more careful, Ross. Ross?" His eyes narrowed. "I'm not injured in other places..." They looked down. Dem smirked. "You have already brought us in ill repute today! I won't have us disgraced twice, making everyone late to leave! There's no time for play now! I have to get dressed!" Ross grinned. "Ow! Maybe I am doomed! Maybe my lip will never get better!" Dem gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. She pressed the tissue back into place. "In time it will... Let's get ready..."

Lord Falmouth sat in the passenger seat next to Hugh and the Poldarks sat in the back seat. Ross had to temper Garrick's affection by holding him back bodily to keep him from besmirching Dem's pretty dress as she entered the car, promising the dog plenty of hugs in the morning to make it up to him. As they rode, they talked of how much they had enjoyed the summer. Hugh extracted a promise that Ross and Dem would continue to tell their stories of their life in Paris and how they came to Italy. The Enyses would go back to England soon. It was only right that the fascinating tale be brought up to the present day before Caroline and Dwight went home. They agreed. There was a warm feeling of friendship between them. Hugh and his uncle, as well as their servants, had been wonderful hosts since Ross and Dem left the folly. An unspoken agreement hovered over them and remained understood by all even as it remained unsaid. The Poldarks had to decide about their future. That conversation was eminent too.

The Enyses had arrived at the castle first and they were there to greet them along with Count Schön. He said hello to them all with the same bountiful courtesy and hospitality that came so naturally from him. "Ah! Welcome back! Dear goodness, young man! Mr. Poldark! Were you thrown from your horse?" Ross guarded his lip with a wry sort of smile that did not endanger his cut. "Hello, Count Schön. Thank you for having us back. I'm afraid I had a run in with George Warleggan today. He keeps barging in on our visits to you!" The count looked to Hugh and his uncle. "A scoundrel to the last! I knew that man was a blackguard. I always mistrust people who continually smile, even as they behave abominably..." He took Dem's hand. "Welcome, Mrs. Poldark! So good to see you once more." She smiled into his eyes. "Thank you Count Schön! Your home is so beautiful and we've missed your kind hospitality!" He bowed. The Poldarks were very warm, very well bred people. Count Schön restored Ross and Dem to the Enyses. They walked through the huge castle to an antichamber that was more scaled down compared to other areas of the giant place. It was like a cozy den, well proportioned sofas, built in cabinetry with bookshelves full of very ancient tomes bound in leather. The wood paneling along the walls met weathered walls that were shaded and colored and mellowed by the passage of hundreds of years. They sat and visited and talked of many things as they enjoyed each others company and waited for dinner to be served.

The servant announced dinner and they left the smaller room laughing and chattering together. They might have all known each other for years to look at them rather than Hugh, Dwight and Caroline having made acquaintance of the Poldarks this summer. A firm friendship hand grown among them. Lord Falmouth and Count Schön, having seen multiple examples of George Warleggan's poor character exchanged a look that Hugh tried to decipher but could not. Hugh had argued in recent days that Warleggan, even if he were not responsible for the shocking ill treatment of the Poldarks, was threatening the entire area with ruin in his plans for the valley. The count and his uncle seemed sympathetic but offered no true commitment. Hugh was anxious that George not get his hands on the valley. Watching the zeal with which George taunted Ross, leading to the fistfight today only added fuel to this desire. George was destructive and was incapable of being reasoned with. He was cruel and persecuted the Poldarks in a vicious series of attacks and harassment. To have a man like that wield so much influence over the area would be a disaster. And, at risk of upsetting the Poldarks, he said as much over dinner. Hugh made his case in front of them all for he worried that his uncle and the count might wait too long and then a protracted battle of lawyering would ensue. Hugh had no fear over bringing the fight to George in court, after the fact, after the land was Warleggan's property. But denying Warleggan the land in the first place was a just and sensible solution. Dwight, Caroline, Demelza and Ross ate in discreet witness to Hugh's plea. The count and Lord Falmouth also ate with a casual air that gave away no sign of their feelings on the matter. They all agreed that George was an unpleasant, greedy and wicked person. Would Lord Falmouth and Count Schön take up cudgels in Hugh's stead, on behalf of the whole of Il Porto, not just his young friends? Count Schön first nodded to his servants that dinner may be cleared away and then looked to Hugh with fondness. He watched the boy grow up summer after summer and then when Hugh came to live semi permanently. He loved Italy and this area. He had the same respect for the locals and the land as many of the aristocracy here. Lord Falmouth and his nephew had taken this place to their hearts. A fine boy. "Ah! The Lord of the Fal can feel pride in such a nephew!" he raised his wine glass in Hugh's direction. "A stirring defense. For the villages, for nature, for his good friends!" Here he swept his arm and included the Poldarks and the Enyses in his affectionate glance. Lord Falmouth looked to Hugh with a fond smile. "Yes," said Hugh's uncle. Count Schön continued. "I must tell you all that the land of the valley has been acquired, by George," Ross, Dem, Dwight, Caroline and Hugh gasped in dismay. The shocked look of his dinner guests puzzled the count. The disconnect was realized by him and Lord Falmouth quite at once. Lord Falmouth said in a gentle kind way, "It took time and effort to bring agreement but it is much as you said when we first heard of his plans at dinner, Hugh. If the folly was 18th century, it followed that a George should have it." The youngsters looked heartbroken. Lord Falmouth and Count Schön exchanged a smile and Hugh's uncle put the kids out of their misery. "Well, a George has it now. Hugo and I negotiated with the officials here and in Rome. The valley now belongs to me." said George Falmouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Can't Always Get What You Want, The Rolling Stones 1969
> 
> I saw her today at the reception  
> A glass of wine in her hand  
> I knew she would meet her connection  
> At her feet was her footloose man  
> No, you can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometime you find  
> You get what you need  
> I saw her today at the reception  
> A glass of wine in her hand  
> I knew she was gonna meet her connection  
> At her feet was her footloose man  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes, well, you might find  
> You get what you need  
> And I went down to the demonstration  
> To get my fair share of abuse  
> Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration  
> If we don't we're gonna blow a fifty-amp fuse"  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes, well, you just might find  
> You get what you need  
> I went down to the Chelsea drugstore  
> To get your prescription filled  
> I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy  
> And man, did he look pretty ill  
> We decided that we would have a soda  
> My favorite flavor, cherry red  
> I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy  
> Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"  
> I said to him  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes you just might find  
> You get what you need  
> You get what you need, yeah, oh baby  
> I saw her today at the reception  
> In her glass was a bleeding man  
> She was practiced at the art of deception  
> Well, I could tell by her blood-stained hands  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes you just might find  
> You just might find  
> You get what you need  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes you just might find  
> You just might find  
> You get what you need, oh yeah


	41. To Sir With Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adieu

Dem woke, the sky only just lightening the room with the sun's rise, feeling unused to the tightness of the bra strapped around her. She sat up and removed it, seated on the bed. After casting a glance around the huge expanse of mattress in giant bed in the gigantic guest bedroom of Lord Falmouth's villa, she crawled forward to pick up the filmy, lacey crumple that were her little lace knickers and smiling in a sense of self satisfaction put them back on. Demelza was an ordinary girl. She felt herself to be an ordinary girl. She had very unhappy aspects of her life to bear. She often met with trauma and misfortune, had hard times pierce her life. She woke today and felt as if a golden crown had been set upon her head by indulgent angels. Yesterday she was whisked away to a fancy shop and treated to a pretty new dress with all the trimmings, from top to toe, in a warm and friendly afternoon of fun, spending time with Caroline Enys, a dear friend. She found Ross, Dwight and Hugh returned to retrieve them from the boutique having avenged themselves on George Warleggan, the grown ups at the last not denying Ross his chance to pay Warleggan back for his attack upon them at the folly and bound in a happy camaraderie over it afterwards, laughing and enjoying the same bond of friendship and love that she felt with Caroline. Even Lord Falmouth seemed satisfied and unconcerned that the brawl had erupted in a club he had membership to. They all rallied around the Poldarks with no hesitation. She dined with Count Schön as an honored guest and spent a pleasant visit in a real, honest to goodness castle! It stood in the golden light of the setting sun as the came upon it like a picture in a fairy story and was so grand inside. She felt as if all of yesterday was a fairy story. Lord Falmouth and Count Schön, so upset over George Warleggan's mistreatment of them, had worked together to acquire the valley, securing a huge amount of land. They had essentially bought an entire mountain and the ajoining area as one might shop for pilchards! For the sake of keeping wicked George Warleggan from controlling so much of the area. For the sake of the land itself. Hugh spoke at dinner with real feeling, not only in the wake of Warleggan's harassment of her and Ross. He spoke of the fishing villages who would see their livelihoods vanish from the pollution of mineral extraction. The animals, birds and beasts, even the insects and butterflies that danced upon the flowers and raspberry canes. The verdant forests and rushing waters, its caves and secret places, the whole skeleton of nature that supported all of the area and stood as a pillar of Italy in itself. Hugh asked that his uncle and Count Schön help to stop Warleggan's plans only to find they had already done so. They unthinkingly frightened them all, for Count Schön referred to Lord Falmouth, in the habit of their long acquaintance, by his first name which was also 'George' and once Lord Falmouth explained the situation they all had a good laugh.  
Dem turned to see Ross still sleeping. With care, for the fight had left Ross with a split lip among other lurid trophies of injury to his face, Ross had been able to prove his approval of Demelza's new clothes and pretty underthings when they returned that night into the small hours of the morning. He lay asleep with an angelic smile beneath a dark lock of hair and his assortment of bruises and cuts. A greenish bruise showed on his chest, a purplish one lay on his arm, from falling against something, but Ross insisted that Warleggan had definitely come away in worse shape from the fight. Ross came to not only her defense as her husband but their whole way of life, in the folly, their time on the streets. He let George Warleggan know that he couldn't push two street rats around and that their friends had stood by them in all things, to the extent of taking the land away from him. Count Schön spoke in an animated manner, saying that the incident at his first evening when George Warleggan insulted Dem was enough proof of his villainy to begin inquiries over denying him the valley. Many of his well heeled guests, particularly the women present had seen George's personality laid bare in that moment and rejected him as a person who could do business among them. The quiet sense noblesse oblige that the men of means and their doyennes took as a rule of law here, that the land, fisherfolk and the villagers were an interconnected portion of their responsibility and fount of their fortunes to a real degree was absent in this man, and he was unforgivablely rude to a lady! For Lord Falmouth, his die was cast before that incident on the dancefloor had occurred. Warleggan had told him he intended to raise the folly upon ownership of the area. This offended the Lord of the Fal to an extreme. Not only was it a well built 18th century structure, a fancy, a folly in truth, still standing after all this time, demanding its own right to exist but his nephew and his friends had come to love it and the summer's worth of fun and friendship he had seen between them, even before he had cause to meet the youngsters who sheltered there himself, was bound up in the place. That Warleggan should want to destroy it out of spite over such a wholesome and loving married couple finding a home in it was uncivilized. The Poldarks made that place their home, and one's home is important, very important.

"You must have a home! Where will you go?" asked Brose. Ross smiled. "Don't talk Brose! You know I can't get your mouth right if you talk!" Brose frowned. He was seated in a wooden chair, sleeves rolled up at the elbow, his forearms resting on his lap, wearing an antique, bicorn, military hat, weathered brocade ribbons on its rim and a wide diagonal stripe of gilt braided trim with a tarnished metal button holding it in place across the front. His feet, clad in shoes by the crisp hem of his trouser legs, quite near that of his students seated in other chairs, who's feet were bare at the tattered edges of their oldest jeans. Dem kept sketching, she looked up briefly and teased, "Hold your pose, my little!" Brose's mouth twisted in an attempt not to laugh. He was not successful. They all laughed. "You are a very twitchy model, Brose!" said Ross. "I wouldn't think you would stand for it in others!" With a snort and a reorientation upon the seat of the chair, Brose resumed his pose but continued to talk. "You two will trouble me. What will you do once the money runs out!? You promise to find proper work! I don't want you two all luizen laden again!" Brose gave Ross and Dem money to rent a room under the guise of remuneration for posing for him as artist's models. But that would not hold them indefinitely. "Don't talk!" said Ross, erasing at his drawing vigorously. Ross smiled over his drawing. Ambrose "paid" them for being models for him, a fiction they chose to uphold. He was giving them far more money than models received to insure they could rent a room for awhile while they found their feet. Ross smiled from amusement but also gratitude. Ross and Dem had only thought to escape the rain. They had no expectations when they dropped through the skylight of this place it would bring them such good fortune and he and Dem had much to thank Brose for in the time they spent here. The lamp that sprouted from the top of the dreaming lady was packed in a crate with the other possessions Brose kept in his studio. Everything was being shipped back to the Netherlands, here and in his flat, a place Ross and Dem had never seen. Dem let her hand rest on the page, looked up from her sketchbook and looked to Ambrose with affection. "Brose," said Dem with a great deal of feeling. "Don't worry for us! We will find work and busk and now we have proper identification cards too... We are much better off now, even if I'm not sixteen yet!" Ross chimed in, "Yes, Brose! You've helped us so much! Don't fret over us! We will be fine and we even know how to draw better now!" He looked from one to the other. They were tidy and fed. They were happy and drawing. A far cry from the grubby urchins he met on a dark and stormy night. Brose kept his pose, did not argue. This was how it was always meant to be, him leaving, them leaving. He had not expected to feel as attached to his little cats as he did feel. That they be well and not fall prey to villains, that they stay well and have a place to live decently. Anyone would want that. That he may come to miss their talks, their music and their lessons, miss watching Mimi's sense of ownership over these overgrown kittens in the studio and jolly meals round the wooden table, the satisfactory feeling of all three working diligently, their drawings, his assignments, on cold days darkening early and warm the glow of the lamplight; miss hearing them wake by degrees in the morning as he puttered about and warmed a pan of milk on the hotplate, hearing them shift and murmur, tucked in under the sheets and coverlets of the mattress under the skylight; sleepy, safe and warm, suddenly vibrant and talkative, wishing him "Good morning, Brose!" and ready for cocoa and croissants in this studio that wasn't in any sense a proper home but felt a bit like one at the last, Ambrose came to realize these two had crept under his skin. Would his little cats land on their feet? Brose spoke from the side of his mouth. "You keep at it! You must not let your talents go to waste! You are both strong draftsmen!" Dem smiled over her work. "We'll be that much stronger now if you stay still!" And Brose resumed his pose. Ross blew his forelock of hair out of the way of his eye and erased again. Brose's smile had widened a touch.

A modest room in a modest building on the Rue des Cannettes. Brose knew many artists who vouched for the place as clean and decent. Run under the careful eye of Madame Albaret. She did not know Ambrose personally but saw him and the two youngsters as the bohemian sort that gave her little trouble. The sort so sunk into their own creativity that they harmed no one and paid their rent on time. She gave them a room to share on the third floor with a bathroom down the hall. They had breakfast assured but had to find meals of their own the rest of the time. A young maid would inspect their room weekly that it be clean and remain free of vermin. The place was not fashionable but was a stone's throw from the labyrinth of cafes, bookstores, dance clubs and the hum and rhythm of Paris that Ross and Dem would come to know like the back of their hand in times to come. This was the dawn of their life together in Paris. In rented rooms and on the streets. A bohemian world that they maneuvered in finer fettle and more finesse than the time after their escape from Marseilles. Having grown tired of the rain soaked, filthy misery in their flight from Marsielles and broken into what they assumed was a disused storage room brought Ross and Demelza many dividends. A roof over their head for the winter. A friend who looked after them, fed them. Who taught them to draw and made sure they had papers of identification. Who looked at them both now with a troubled look of affection. Brose had come to like his little cats and wanted them to be well in his absence. "You be safe and well, I doubt we shall meet again..." said Brose struck by the idea, parting in truth. "Thank you, Brose, for everything!" said Ross as he shook Ambrose's hand, holding his guitar case in his other hand. Dem had a new, new second hand, rucksack holding their clothes and two hardbound sketchbooks over her shoulder. A drawstring cloth bag holding their toiletries: soap, shampoo, toothbrushes and paste, unmentionable feminine things... dangled at her elbow. She rejected a handshake and gave Brose a hug that he returned with no hesitation. "Ah, my little, you be safe and well too, cherie..." Madame Albaret raised her eyebrows, briefly, at that. The man's affection for the red headed boy seemed over sentimental. Dem stepped out of the embrace. They admired each other. They were friends. "Give our regards to Mimi..." smiled Ross. Brose smiled his wry half smile. "Don't stop drawing..." said Brose, quietly. It was impossible to make that as stern sounding a directive as they had become used to from him. Brose had come to like his little cats... They nodded. Brose turned to the landlady. "Good day, madame. These two will be good tenants..." Madame Albaret nodded. "Au revoir, monsieur." And, with that, Ambrose van der Bezige parted ways with Demelza Carne and Ross Poldark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Sir With Love, Lulu 1967
> 
> Those schoolgirl days of telling tales and biting nails are gone  
> But in my mind I know they will still live on and on  
> But how do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume?  
> It isn't easy, but I'll try  
> If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky in letters  
> That would soar a thousand feet high 'To Sir, With Love'  
> The time has come for closing books and long last looks must end  
> And as I leave I know that I am leaving my best friend  
> A friend who taught me right from wrong and weak from strong  
> That's a lot to learn, but what can I give you in return?  
> If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start  
> But I would rather you let me give my heart 'To Sir, With Love'
> 
> An incidental happiness of 'To Sir With Love' is that Judy Geeson, the 1970s Caroline, was in that Sidney Poitier movie.
> 
> luizen: lice, crawlers ;)
> 
> fettle: fitness, health, ability
> 
> chérie: dear, the landlady is intrigued because she believes Dem to be male but Brose used the feminine form rather than the masculine, chéri or cher as well as embracing "the lad"
> 
> Still writing... :)


	42. John Barleycorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thwarted

Ross woke by degrees. He had been dreaming that Prudie had called him down for breakfast and woke loggy and confused over where he was and even what year. He woke almost convinced he was a child again in Nampara. He blinked and realized where he was. A guest of Lord Falmouth in the present day. Ross yawned and swept his arm across the huge bed for Dem, to hold, to wake with kisses, but she had already left the bed. A weeks recuperation had healed his lip closed. His bruising was still garish looking and the cut by his eye would definitely leave a scar but he was content. George might have coexisted with them in the tearoom. It might not have come to blows. Hugh counseled restraint and Ross was willing to try to be 'a bigger man', as Hugh suggested, try to be a grown up too. George poked a hornet's nest and got stung. Ross enjoyed beating him up both in the back and forth fight between them and Hugh's assistance, coming forward with a sardonic smile, wrestling Warleggan still to take Ross' blows with no way to defend himself. If Ross could strive to be a grown up then Hugh and Dwight let themselves wear the cloak of a street rat, briefly. Lord Falmouth waved away the issue when Ross apologised for bringing a scandal to his club. He saw the justness of the situation too. They had his back after trying to avoid an altercation and came firmly down on Ross' side when it became inevitable. They were grown ups but Hugh and his uncle, Dwight and Caroline were loyal friends who had a sense of honor that would not be out of place on the street.

Dem sat back against the sink to recover a bit. It had been a very rich dinner last night. Braised beef with marrow bones to scoop clean as a whistle with slender spoons, a rich red wine that was deceptively smooth and a trio of delicious ice creams, blood orange, lemon and vanilla. In a summer full of indulgence, she supposed her constitution had finally cried for mercy. Too much fat and cream last night. She wasn't often sick but she had a stomach upset this morning...  
"Dem? Are you alright?" called Ross. He heard her wretch and flush the toilet. Dem had as strong a constitution as he did, she wasn't often sick of a morning. She entered the room. "You look pale Dem, are you unwell?" She nodded with a smile. "I'm alright. I think dinner was too rich last night..." Ross' eyes fluttered in remembrance. "I could have had nothing but the marrow bones for dinner and been happy as a clam!" sighed Ross. They got dressed, having gone to their rest as nude as any other time, and went to breakfast. Dem would have unbuttered toast and tea, bringing herself to better form through dietary restraint. "Good morning, Lord Falmouth!" said Dem. Even walking helped bring her back to feeling normal. "Good Morning, Lord Falmouth!" said Ross, also nodding a bright eyed greeting to the servants who smiled their hello to both of them. "Good morning, you two," said Lord Falmouth. Ross looked about. "Will Hugh be down?" asked Ross, helping Dem into her seat. Lord Falmouth smiled. "Hugh has eaten already. He has gone into town." 

Hugh had a front row seat. He could not help himself. He waited, patiently, at a small cafe with a tall icy glass of lemon soda at one of four outdoor tables that faced the courthouse. His patience was rewarded when George Warleggan came stomping down the steps, clutching a Moroccan tooled leather portfolio in a black mood. George left the courthouse in a murderous rage. Not only had Armitage held him bodily to be assaulted by his garden gnome he enclosed the "garden" itself. The land of the valley had already been acquired, removed from the ability to be sold and slated for formal registration as a nature preserve. That horrible nephew of Lord Falmouth had lured him into announcing his intentions and then snapped up the area himself to let it sit and do NOTHING! Let it grow ever more wild and overrun with unchecked wildlife. Hugh Armitage was a scoundrel! A blackguard! He... He was gloating at the cafe across the street! Hugh, enjoying his refreshing drink raised it to George across the square. The pigeons and children running about, the hustle and bustle in this highly trafficked area could not obscure Hugh in his dark sunglasses grinning his obnoxious grin. George intended to walk to his waiting car but strode across the square, incandescently angry. "Good day, George..." began Hugh. "You have set this community back into the stone ages!" said George, indignant over this haughty squireen yanking all his plans away. George watched Hugh's grin widen. George stood over the cafe table yelling."You? You tricked me! You invited me to dinner like... like an industrial spy! You, you snake in the grass! I should have known Lord Falmouth had a devious nephew before I agreed to his invitation!" Hugh took another sip of his drink. George might have said nothing at all to see Hugh's calm demeanor. "Why George, you seem to be irate! Could you have had a disappointment?" At that, Hugh started laughing. George stamped his foot. "You think this is funny do you?!" Hugh shrugged. "I do. You wrote to uncle, or did you forget that? You requested an introduction. My uncle said yes to be polite. His sense of hospitality is generous and he was happy to meet a British businessman. You might have been an upright fellow. You could have been a person who could bring value to this area. But you are not. Uncle's polite and doesn't broadcast his dislikes. I don't have to be polite. I think you are a rapacious, greedy, EVIL, person and I'm happy to have foxed you." said Hugh raised his glass affably and took another sip. The amused, obnoxiously posh tenor of Hugh's voice as he spoke enraged George. "Foxed me! Foxed me?! You take away employment for countless residents here, ruin a bid for modernity, deny a FORTUNE in revenue to these peasants to spite me?" George's face was reddening. Hugh shrugged. "Foxes are clever!" grinned Hugh. "Foxes are crazy!" glowered George. Hugh shrugged again, smiling. "Perhaps I'm a bit of both." George threw his portfolio down on the little marble topped table in annoyance. "You laugh like this is some sort of joke?! I don't find it funny!" Hugh removed his sunglasses. The amusement in him vanished. "What I don't find funny is you sent the police to try and get the Poldarks arrested for defending themselves against your henchmen. Men who do your bidding and threatened to murder them..." George's eyes widened. They were in a public square. "You have no proof, shut up!" snapped George. Hugh continued. "...and then had the unmitigated gall to taunt the boy over it like he wouldn't give you the thrashing you deserved!" He looked George up and down. "I'd have thought you'd have stayed indoors with your injuries for longer. I should have let Ross have a longer go at you!" George frowned. "You talk big when it's three against one..." Hugh frowned. "You sent three grown men to terrorize..." George growled "Shut up!" "I will not!" said Hugh. "I'll tell everyone what you've been doing!" George looked around them. People were watching. George would not be shown up by Hugh Armitage in a public square. He waggled his finger at Hugh, hissing, "You are a rich, spoiled bastard who never worked a goddamn day in your life taking away progress from the very people you lot snivel over! You want this place to stay frozen in place and backward. You can't stand the idea that the peasants around here might get ideas above their station and...!" "I," said Hugh, angrily, "certainly, can't stand the idea of you taking every fishing village around here, breaking them over your knee and scooping out all the precious revenue you keep banging on about into your own coffers while the entire area becomes an impoverished, polluted disaster," said Hugh. "I, absolutely, do not want a jumped up smelter like you getting ideas above _your_ station and use up this place until everything around here is uninhabitable!" Hugh put down his glass. "'My lot' care for this place. We care about the water and the wildlife. We care about the fishermen and the fruit growers. We care that the valley, the water and the sea stay healthy and not be torn to pieces, and, having a choice in the matter..." Hugh seemed to leave his anger and return to amusement. "... I throw my lot in with the foxes." Many onlookers applauded at Hugh's speech and George rolled his eyes. "You are exactly the sort of romantic, dopey dogooder that keeps progress back!" Hugh raised his glass again. "Guilty as charged!" George picked up the leather folder and stomped back to his car. And Hugh's laughter carried across the square as he restored his sunglasses, even as the sky turned overcast. 

Clouds rolled in. The bright sun of the morning had given way to a dull, overcast drear. George sat in the car fuming. They took away his land. His grand design for extracting value nearly twenty times more than he would have paid for it even before the vacation homes were put there all up in smoke. All for two wan, spindly, shaggy looking hippies living in a jumped up sheep shed that looked like a novelty restaurant! As he approached the home he was renting, George considered the defeat he had been given. There was no recourse to purchase the valley. His entire summer here was wasted, come to nothing! That was out of his hands but he could punish them. They might know it was down to him but he would be in England by the time they found out. Could be anyone, couldn't it? If two kids found that stupid folly anybody might find that place. Anyone might accidentally start a fire. Even a lightning strike could start a fire. They couldn't pin it on him. He would just deny it. The car turned in to the gravel drive. George disembarked, storming past the chauffeur deep in thought. He would not outsource this. Tom Harry flubbed his job. The stupid police were too lazy to do their jobs and had the obnoxious idea that the kids had no gun up there. Tankard was too cautious to do deeds of this nature himself and, in truth, George wanted to do this himself. He wanted to destroy the one symbol these romantic fools rallied around. He wanted to engineer weeping disappointment in those two stupid garden gnomes and their aristo babysitters. He would destroy the folly anyway. Let them have their trees and creatures for consolation. Taking away their little pleasure palace will be a joy.  
He rooted around in the sheds and garages until he found a can of petrol and took his personal car to the base of the cliff. He had a rough idea of how to get to the place. Tankard had been with him when he tried to pay off the brats. It wouldn't take long to find the place. The wind was rising. The rattling of tree leaves was too loud. Little beasts scurried about. This place was wasted. This whole place was wasted. Just the animal pelts would have brought in so much revenue! George considered these grievances as he tromped along. A light drizzle was beginning and the air seemed to get colder. George picked his way further on. It was not long now. He almost wished he could see the looks on their faces when they turned the corner of the whitewashed wall and saw their precious folly burnt to the ground. The little red headed slut would cry and that long haired toerag would be angry with no recourse. The miscreant thought he had his revenge, fighting three against one. George would have the last laugh. A fox crossed his path. It was quite near and he dropped the petrol in surprise. "Damned animals!" George picked up the can as rain began to pelt heavily. He sighed. Now he would have to wait in the place first, for the rain to stop and then torch the place. Rain never seemed to last long here. Sudden showers became golden sunshine before too long. The wetness would not hinder him. George had every intention of dousing the place with the entire can of fuel.

George might have misjudged the route, or the heavy rain obscured the route. He looked around to see if some kind of shelter, trees or a cave perhaps, could help him wait out the rain. The ground was difficult to walk on. The rainwater washed gravel forward and George's loafers had poor traction for the soles were smooth leather. He fought onwards, struggled onwards, needing to clutch the can tighter as he took a step back for every two steps forward. The rain was coming down in sheets now and George was soaked. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. Even shielding them with his free hand was little help. Keeping upright was hard and he slid enough to fall to one knee. The petrol can sounded its dull glug, it's deep clang, in the noise and din of the rain falling. He looked around him. A cave or cove of some sort was visible. The darkness of it was visible. That might have enough depth to shelter from the rain. 'The rain can't last much longer, the trials I have to bear in this hell hole...' he thought. He thought of Armitage and that stupid boy. He was just a boy. George had the advantage in that fight until the flunky gave way to let the fight be and that obnoxious Hugh held him pinned, coming forth like a shade in a haunted house with his too thin, anemic, afflicted looking... That tired out look of the upper classes... Armitage laughed at him today and said he was evil! Well, so be it. How hard will he laugh when their daft little clubhouse is destroyed? Ahead the cave was dark and the relief of having the rain off of him was instantaneous. George could see light further down. A tunnel rather than a cave? He would wait out the rain and then retrace his steps. Maybe he could see another vantage point from the far side. Perhaps even see the folly from there. Still holding the can of petrol he moved, cautiously forward. The light brightened though it still held the gloom of the rain storm. George could feel loose stones and gravel underfoot as an incline tipped down towards the light. The thought to be careful flashed away in a quick panic. George could feel gravity pull him forward as his shoes had so little hold on the floor of this place. Wet vegetation made for slick patches underfoot. The flat soles of his shoes suddenly slipped on the slimy surface. He twisted sharply to save himself, slithered down the slope bumping his head and shoulders, trying to clutch, to distribute weight. Then in horror he fell to the ground below. George heard the petrol can bang and clatter some yards ahead of him as he followed, scrabbling and clawing in a desperate attempt to stop his fall. He grimaced as his chin opened up. The skin there rasped off along the rock like a vegetable grater and he felt his jaw misalign as he screamed. The taste of blood was present as he bit his tongue first, trying to over correct for the sake of his chin but unable to shut it again in a wild eyed fright. Could not shut his mouth as he fell forward gasping in a panicked language of abortive shrieks. He could not close his mouth and his elbow became skinned as his shirt sleeve shredded across the rocks. His thoughts were scattered. A last wish to wait out the rain and burn down the folly was clear and exact for one shinning moment as George Warleggan hit his head on his way down, down the hill, into the gorge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Barleycorn, Traffic 1970
> 
> There were three men, came out of the west  
> Their fortunes for to try  
> And these three men made a solemn vow  
> John Barleycorn must die!  
> Well, they've ploughed,  
> They've sown, they've harrowed him in  
> Threw clouds upon his head  
> Till these three men were satisfied  
> John Barleycorn was dead  
> They've let him lie for a long long time  
> Till the rains from heaven did fall  
> And little sir John sprang up his head  
> And so amazed them all  
> They let him fly till the midsummer's day  
> Till he looked both pale and wan, oh  
> Then little Sir John has grown a long long beard  
> And so became a man  
> They have hired men with the scythes so sharp  
> To cut him off at the knee,  
> They rolled and they tied him around the waist  
> Serving him most him barbarously  
> They hired men with the sharp pitchforks  
> To prick him to the heart  
> And the loader he has served him worse than that  
> For he's bound him to the cart  
> Well, they've wheeled him 'round and 'round the field  
> Till they came onto a barn  
> And there they made their solemn oath  
> Concerning a Barleycorn  
> They hired men with the crab tree sticks  
> To split him skin from bone, yeah  
> But the miller he has served him worst and bad  
> For he ground him between two stones  
> Well there's beer all in the barrel  
> And brandy in the glass,  
> But little old sir John with his nut-brown bowl  
> Proved the strongest man at last  
> John Barleycorn, throw him up, throw him up!  
> Now the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox  
> Nor loudly blow his horn  
> And the tinker he can't mend his pots  
> Without John Barleycorn,  
> John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn  
> Barleycorn, Barleycorn  
> John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn


	43. Perfect Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One door closes, another door opens

An oft said proverb about the valley, Il Porto, a mysterious place from time back was, "Nel porto, entri vivo ed esci morto." You come in alive and go out dead. Luckily for George Warleggan, while he was missing for 48 hours, dehydrated, broke an extraordinary amount of bones and was unconscious for a week, he left the valley alive. There was no way of knowing where he had gone the first day. He left without his chauffeur and left no suggestion of where he was going. By the second day a car, reported to the police as his vehicle was located at the base of the cliff and a search ensued. The story made the local paper, to which the cook at Lord Falmouth's villa said, sagely, "The valley itself finished beating that man where young Ross left off!" She brewed camomile tea for Mrs. Poldark, still fussy in her digestion. The cook declined to suggest other explanations. She was satisfied that a young married girl, sick of a morning, and putting on weight in a visible manner might come to the correct conclusion herself before long. Dem could admit at this moment that other explanations were probable. She often went through long portions of time with her monthly courses absent from their spartan existence. Both she and Ross had an ability to survive on very little to eat, less a function of disordered eating than the plain fact they just didn't get much to eat in their street life sometimes. Their acquiring a cow and chickens brought more nutrition to them upon living in the folly. Their friends had fed them so well on top of this during the summer. Dem was regular enough to note her period coming back but too used to fallow times to put much thought into its absence once more. She rummaged through their boxes of things in the corner of the guest bedroom and unwrapped the Madonna statue from its swaddle of muslin cloth. Dem stood in her long brown skirt and green top with the lace straps in grateful admiration of the placid face and rich attire of this Madonna that she and Ross bought in a shop that sold religious figurines and puppets, soon after they secured the lease to the folly. The store was dark and nondescript enough it might have been someone's house. Ross and Dem were curious enough to enter. It was dim, the windows curtained to protect the fabrics and figures and the paper mache faces of marionettes from being bleached paler by sunlight. Small lamps with old cloth shades lent light in various places. Old display counters with glass tops held a universe of small ornaments and nativity figures. No part of the room was absent of wooden miniatures, brightly painted and costumed puppets and serene statues, some as large as twenty inches high. Some were as small as two inches but every one of them carved to a high standard, realistic way. The Poldarks were greeted by an elderly man who still hand carved the faces and his son who produced the hands and feet and dressed the figures. Worked with the fiddly bits that his dear old father could no longer manage from age. Angels, putti, saints, animals like donkeys and cats, Madonnas and nativity figures were in every part of the room and the puppets hanging from rails overhead too. They did not speak English but Ross and Dem were so taken by the overwhelming array of pretty figures they managed enough miming to chose a statue to live with them at the folly. Having chosen their statue, dressed in a long, white cotton gown, an undergarment, Ross and Demelza spent an hour watching in hushed awe as the son dressed her in lace and a wide skirted gown of blue velvet, always giving the Poldarks choice in the matter as each new decoration was added. He showed them an array of fabrics and trims and let them chose each portion of her wardrobe. He sewed the gown, marking around crinkled, ancient paper patterns with a stub of pink chalk, cutting out the various pieces with blackened metal shears and creating the garment on a sewing machine so old it worked with a manual crank. From a glistening drift of glass beads, Ross chose three small crystals shaped like tears that the man attached to the dark blue gown in a triangle at the front hem with a needle and thread. They caught the light in a ghostly glow, bright frost upon the velvet. Her crown was chosen from a flat wooden tray holding dozens, each more beautiful than the last. Ross told Dem he would stand by her choice. After looking them over in careful seriousness, Dem chose a pressed metal crown with tiny flowers at its base and a single star on its top. The old man took the crown from her and lingered over the star on her other hand. Ross put his left hand alongside Dem's to show both men that their ring fingers matched. This was seen as lucky by the old gentleman. He nodded his approval of their tattoos and tapped the star on the crown gently with his finger. Ross and Dem smiled in a way that charmed the shopkeeper. He could see that the right Lady was going to the right household and they dressed her with care. The statue so like a doll but never a doll really, an icon. Demelza and Ross were married and lived enough life to fill three lives but, if truth were told, they both were just kids. They occasionally made decisions and considered choices that made little sense in themselves. Two young people with a home on a cliff with no electricity or plumbing is not the most sensible place to have a child. They were amorous to an extreme and never conceived. It was a silly wish to have a child. They were too young and only had a home by happenstance. Wishes were comforting. Ross and Dem asked the Madonna to give them a baby the way children put their tooth under their pillow for the tooth fairy, or write letters to Father Christmas to remind him they had been good and might like a particular present. It was real, in their minds that some calm, generous, universal mother would look after them and grant their wish. It might happen. There was not a sense that it was a doll on a shelf, a decoration. It was not religious faith either, for what its worth. It was a boy and a girl, old enough to be grown, young enough to still consider magical thinking au courant and wishing for the most basic blessing a marriage can produce. Two children wanting a new start, wanting a family in truth. A mama. A papa. A baby they could care for and love. A new person who would not have as much sadness as they did because they would both try hard to make it so. Be Mama. Be Papa. A chance to heal themselves in the process and feel their love grow threefold. Ross entered the bedroom with a covered mug of camomile tea. "Dem?" He came to stand by her, left a gentle hand at her hip as they admired their Madonna. "We must buy a pink candle..." said Ross wistfully. Dem turned her head at a pivot, turned her chin so their cheeks touched. She was careful of his injuries from the fight. Their smiling could be felt between them. Ross closed his eyes and lay his head close to Dem's. She had a subtle plumpness to her cheek from her smile and from having such a fun summer with so much generosity from their friends. Their faces had both filled out a little, they gained a bit more weight from so many nice meals. Her cheek felt soft next to his and he could feel her smile as he pressed his chin nearer to hers. In the quiet space of his enjoyment of this closeness she whispered, "I think the white one worked..." Ross jolted, eyes wide, nearly dropping the mug. "You...? REALLY?!" she nodded over the Madonna in her hands with a shy smile. "Oh Sweetness!" He put his hand to his mouth. He remembered the tea. "Oh! This tea is for you Dem, the cook said..." Ross' eyes shined. A baby! "She said it would settle your stomach. Oh, Dem! Oh, my love! A baby!" She grinned as she nodded her head. "It's early days, mind, but I feel sick like when Garrick eats worms!" They chuckled over this as Dem wrapped the statue back up, set it in the box and took the mug from an enchanted looking Ross. He saw it as a sign. He had been dreaming of Nampara ever since word of Papa's death. They were fractured facets of memory and odd rearrangements of his brain's ideas. He had a dream this morning in which he brought a bucket of Desdemona's milk into the folly but the room inside was the kitchen at Nampara. He woke in a swift confusion over it but the dream made sense to him now. Dem sipped the tea. Ross pressed his fingers to his lips as if he might burst in happiness. He released his mouth to say, "Lord Falmouth said he might be able to get our passports sorted," Ross smiled at her. We could go back to England, I could bring you to Nampara, Sweetness." He looked sad briefly. Papa would not meet his grandchild. "Papa is gone..." Dem squeezed his hand and Ross smiled a little. "I don't know if the Paynters would come back to work but we could live in Nampara and the baby could have my old room!" Dem looked at him with shiny eyes over the mug as she drank the tea. Ross returned her look of love. They had promised themselves their own time at the folly before returning to Cornwall. The land was spared, the folly still there but a new baby changed things. The fetching and carrying on Dem's part, the day to day chores of the folly, would have to end. She would not be able to manage her tasks tending the folly homestead pregnant and they could not impose on Lord Falmouth's generosity indefinitely. They would be husband and wife and baby made three! They could settle down in truth and be home. They could wear their rings on their fingers. Dem drank down the rest of the camomile tea and hugged Ross in a rocking, tight embrace, his hand at her hair, her arms around him, almost dancing in their place, a slow waver between them. Clutching the one person they loved the most and sharing the happiness over their most fervent dream come true. It was a strange turnabout but running away had brought them full circle. They would have a home and be a family and shelter in the love to be had there in perpetuity. Ross and Dem were not just returning to England, the Poldarks were going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perfect Circle, R.E.M. 1983
> 
> Put your hair back, we get to leave  
> Eleven gallows on your sleeve  
> Shallow figured winner's paid  
> Eleven shadows way out of place
> 
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
> 
> Pull your dress on and stay real close  
> Who might leave you where I left off?  
> A perfect circle of acquaintances and friends  
> Drink another, coin a phrase
> 
> Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room  
> Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room  
> Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
> 
> Try to win and suit your needs  
> Speak out sometimes but try to win
> 
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room  
> Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
> 
> Putti: little cherubs, baby angels
> 
> Still writing...


	44. Breezin' Along With The Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Street rats

Candles lit the Enyses dining room in a pretty glow, bouncing off the glasses, tablecloth and walls in shimmery shadows bright with light. The summer was coming to an end. This was the last meal they would enjoy all together in the Enyses vacation home. They would decamp to Lord Falmouth's each evening, for dinner and company, until they went back to England. The staff was reduced in anticipation of the villa's tenants leaving. The trunks and suitcases were in the front hall. Ross lead Dem by the hand into the dining room and they both sighed with delight at the sentimental facsimile of their folly in the flickering candlelight. "One last flourish of our summer before we go..." smiled Caroline. "We shall pump you for information this week!" laughed Dwight. "We don't want to leave before we hear the rest of your adventures!" Lord Falmouth chuckled too. "I have a particularly good claret tomorrow, we shall embibe in style!" They all laughed though Ross and Dem smiled like Cheshire cats. "It might be that I shall decline the claret..." said Dem, impishly. Hugh came up behind them. "Oh? Dem, is claret not to your...?" Hugh blinked in the recognition of why a woman might decline alcohol. He looked at his uncle. Lord Falmouth looked at Ross and Dem with his eyebrows raised and a tentative smile. Dwight looked to Dem with a huge, surprised smile as Caroline gasped. "Ohhhhh! Oh, my dear! Do you mean...?" Dem smiled at Ross. Ross struggled to speak for his smile was so wide. In a proud, bashful way Ross turned from Dem and announced to their friends, "Dem's expecting..." A effervescent chorus of congratulations swelled around the Poldarks. They looked so happy and sweet together in their excited pride over conceiving. Dem looked 'glowing' in the candlelight, had an extra look of bountiful health. Ross still bore his injuries from the fight with George, healing, fading somewhat. That did not mar the happiness in his face. The Poldarks had come through a lot this summer. They came through the fire. The land of the valley was spared development and destruction, the friendship between them all bound them closer together and there was just the romantic chance that Ross and Dem's last night at the folly, so steeped in pain and disappointment might have given them the warmest and most heartfelt goodbye. They had come to terms with leaving a dream behind in vacating the folly but had a dream granted in return. Lord Falmouth smiled. He had looked askance at his nephew's attachment to two street musicians at first. He did not take very long to see things from Hugh's perspective. The Poldarks were, very much, like children from a fairy tale and the Lord of the Fal was optimistic enough to believe the young couple was on the verge of their happily ever after. Dwight and Caroline shared a conspiratorial grin. He had chided Caroline for trying to fatten the Poldarks up when they first invited them to dinner, for risking this very outcome. In the final analysis, Dwight could see the outcome justified the means. You would have to have a heart of stone not to see the joy radiating from Ross and Dem in their happiness over becoming parents and not want to share in it. Caroline's eyes crinkled with joy. She would not presume too much responsibility for this blessed event but if feeding up her doll house dolls made her a co conspirator she would not feel sorry over it. Cream cake never hurt anyone... Hugh grinned. He knew it had been a wish so solemn for the couple they'd put the matter to their Madonna statue. "How wonderful!" said Hugh, very struck by how dear the Poldarks had become to them all in such a short while. Such a magical summer.

I never knew the charm of spring  
I never met it face to face  
I never knew my heart could sing  
I never missed a warm embrace  
Till April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom  
Holiday tables under the trees  
April in Paris, this is a feeling  
That no one can ever reprise  
I never knew the charm of spring  
I never met it face to face  
I never knew my heart could sing  
I never missed a warm embrace  
Till April in Paris  
Whom can I run to  
What have you done to my heart

Dem sang "April in Paris" on the left bank, along the River Seine to Ross' sprightly accompaniment on a beautiful April, spring morning. Ross' ability for song canny choices, matching songs to fit the moods of passersby, 'Isn't it a fair spring day? Isn't Paris wonderful?' made the guitar case jingle with change as people smiled their approval of these two young people making music on a pretty day. Dem often sang with her eyes on some sort of dream horizon that the other people around them thought very attractive. She performed for the angels in the sky, the birds in the air, the secret sight of the heart. Ross played guitar, nodding his thanks as people came forth to toss a coin, murmur a quick compliment on their way to wherever they were going. He watched people look at Dem, admire her, puzzle over her -she still dressed as a boy- and looked at Dem with a smile. Even he wished he could find the place where Dem scanned the distance in front of her and sang. Ross was so glad Dem left the Home and became his friend. He had a stubborn need to strike out on his own. He kept making the wrong choices, kept ingratiating himself with the wrong people. He even wandered off to get a free meal with Dem in tow with that same thoughtlessness. That might have gotten them both killed... But Dem was one decision Ross had gotten right, made a choice on his gut instinct that did not fail him. She came away with him and saved him from the man choking him. She even happened upon the skylight that dropped them in Brose's studio, out of all the rooftops in Paris. Dem was his luck, his partner and his friend. He was very grateful to have one of his hairbrained schemes turn out so positive.

Dem sang along to Ross' guitar and her happy mood seemed to reflect back to her from the people going to and fro taking a moment to smile and leave a coin in Ross' guitar case. These work a day people did not begrudge Ross and Dem a spare coin. Paris was so exciting! There were days, of course, when takings were small but there were patisseries all over the city that had wonderful cakes and pastries for fair prices so, even when they couldn't meet the price of a meal, they always had a snack to keep them going. Some days the people were very generous and she and Ross often made enough to have a good meal in one of the many cafes in the city. These places were not just restaurants. They were hives of thought, students and artists and writers all working and talking and arguing too. They were congregating places for other kids like them, independent kids who lived on the street and what shelter they could manage. Kids who kept themselves through odd jobs, clubbing together, pooling money to share rented rooms, sharing what could be shared, information, food. They were independent and banded together too. There was an honor code among them, a society among them. There were innocents and thieves. There were drug dealers and drunks. There were fair weather hangers on, people who liked the glamour of the street life but had rich parents to bail them out if they wanted to quit. An ecosystem that had pulled Ross and Dem into its web. Ross with his friendly smile and guitar, Dem a little songbird who wore boys clothes and could make you laugh even if you couldn't speak each others language became part of this sprawling, Latin Quarter world. They were becoming a known quantity. Two English kids who busked for spare change on the streets. They were often found sharing a pastry from one of the patisseries for they earned a good bit from their performances. They loitered in bookshops. They were founts of bright chatter in the cafes with the kids, with the students, even grown ups sometimes; about politics, about books and art. They could draw too! They had a sketchbook they shared and they drew in the all night cafes where the owner had the right to kick you out if they caught you sleeping. Where there was one, there was the other. Ross and Dem were never apart. They were friendly and got along with everyone. Even the hard cases that flirted the edge of proper crime, dealing hashish, the last hazy edge before that other shadow world of the older denizens of the street where prostitution and petty criminals interfaced, had a smile for them, a sense of protection towards them. Some of the kids would graduate into that harsher world on the street but no one believed that of Palmier. Ross and Demelza were known on the scene for eating their pastries and being birds of a feather, always side by side. Most kids had nicknames out on the street. Ross and Dem became christened as a pair. Like the sugar puff pastry that curled its two sides inward, two separate sides fused together, they were known on the street scene as 'Palmier'.

Ross had a plan. Brose would have boxed Ross' ears over it but it was a plan with merit from a street child's perspective. Winter was the cruel problem. Shelter in the winter was something they would need. As summer turned to autumn Ross and Dem did not want a repeat of their miserable flight from Marseilles. They did not want to be trapped under bridges in cold, rainy weather. That might not be such a hardship in the _warm_ weather though... Ross knew busking could keep them fed but not housed. If Ross and Dem saved Brose's money in the warm weather they could use it when it was truly necessary, the cold weather. They could winter in a rented room like their time in Brose's studio. Maybe even squirrel away more funds through odd jobs to make more money to keep them indoors until the warm weather returned. Dem agreed. Other kids got by in the warmer months. They could save the money for a true need. Neither Ross nor Dem wanted to be on the street when the cold weather came. Madame Albaret could not promise them the same room but she did promise to keep their full amount of money against them returning in the cold weather months. They would add to it periodically by helping move crates of produce in Les Halles. They would do odd jobs for Madame Albaret too. Ross could be found sweeping up the hallways. Dem often helped cleaning the kitchen. They received no money for these chores but the work gave Madame more reason to see their good nature, and keep their money safe knowing that their true return meant tenants she knew and trusted were returning, not shadowy strangers topping up their money, now and again. She knew them as helpful friends, not just prospective tenants. She kept their funds safe as well as allowing them to leave their belongings in her building without fear of them being stolen. Ross' guitar and their bag of clothes were safely stowed on Rue des Cannettes when they worked at Les Halles and Ross and Dem were allowed to use the bathrooms in her building when other non residents were banned. Madame came to like them and kept their original third floor room vacant on purpose anticipating their return. She organized other residents around it and, in one case in a busy period, turned a prospective person away to insure the two kids who brightened her day with a smile and so often lightened the maid's work the right to the final vacancy. Ross and Dem were busking, picking up work from stall owners at the outdoor food markets, learning the tricks and skills to survive out on the streets among the kids who were becoming their friends. All that while having their later winter quarters assured. The plan was working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breezin' Along With The Breeze, Josephine Baker 1927
> 
> I have been a rover since I was a child  
> No one to love or care for me  
> Knocked around all over, kinda grew up wild  
> My home's wherever I may be  
> Ain't no someone yearnin', wonderin' where I be  
> I'm gone, but no one's missin' me  
> Ain't no light a-burnin' ev'ry night for me  
> I'm like a bird that's flyin' free  
> I'm just breezin' along with the breeze  
> Trailin' the rails, roamin' the seas  
> Like the birdies that sing in the trees  
> Pleasin' to live, livin' to please  
> The sky is the only roof I have over my head  
> And when I'm weary, Mother Nature makes me a bed  
> I'm just goin' along as I please  
> Breezin' along with the breeze  
> I'm just breezin' along with the breeze  
> I'm trailin' the rails, roamin' the seas  
> Like the birdies that sing in the trees  
> I'm pleasin' to live and livin' to please  
> The sky is the only roof I have over my head  
> And when I'm weary, Mother Nature makes me a bed  
> I'm just goin' along as I please  
> Breezin' along with the breeze
> 
> April In Paris, written in 1932 for the Broadway show, "Walk A Little Faster" by Duke&Harburg.
> 
> Latin Quarter: An area in the 5th and the 6th arrondissements of Paris
> 
> Les Halles: Les Halles was Paris's central fresh food market. It was demolished in 1971 and replaced with a shopping mall that opened in 1979. Ross and Dem picked up work in the outdoor markets from vendors who paid under the table for on the spot work moving produce crates, work they knew how to do from their time in the growers compound.
> 
> Brose would have boxed Ross’ ears: slapping, clouting ears on both sides of the head
> 
> Ross' plan would have driven Ambrose crazy but it was wise from a vagabond's perspective. Madame Albaret gave Ross and Dem a secure place for their funds to collect, clean themselves and keep their belongings safe while they busked, worked and when they got arrested in the periodic sweeps of the street kids. It was a good system. The money was safe and available at the point were it would be the most useful, staying out of the cold. If Madame was a cheater they would have been in trouble but she kept her side of the bargain. Ross was persuasive in requesting this bargin and doing odd jobs for her kept her sweet on them.
> 
> Still writing... :)


	45. Boys Keep Swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All aboard for funtime

Frère Jacques  
Frère Jacques  
Dormez-vous?  
Dormez-vous?

Sonnez les matines  
Sonnez les matines  
Ding, ding, dong  
Ding, ding, dong

Frère Jacques  
Frère Jacques  
Dormez-vous?  
Dormez-vous?

Sonnez les matines  
Sonnez les matines  
Ding, ding, dong  
Ding, ding, dong  
Ding, ding, dong  
Ding, ding, dong

"Sacré bleu! Put them out! I can't hear myself think from the noise! They should deport the lot of them!"  
Dem stood on a bench in the cell gleefully leading the others in a rousing version of Frère Jacques while they waited for their inevitable release. Even the grown ups held in an adjoining cell started up, adding filthy stanzas of their own creation as the kids kept singing and laughing. Ross sat, arms crossed and legs outstretched, a rip in the denim spilling loose threads across the knee of his jeans, seated at the opposite wall where the bars of the cell met the brick of the wall. He shook his head with a smile of admiration, forelock of dark hair hung over one eye. Dem was a one person riot, standing over them all in a baker's boy cap she bought last week. She could braid up her hair and tuck it up into the hat and that made her gender that much more indeterminate. She waved her arms about like a conductor of an choir and her voice floated over the din of so many others singing it one beat behind her, elongating the nursery song to absurd proportions. Ross felt he could pick out Dem's voice in a crowded stadium if he had to. It rang out clear as a bell for him. Officer Vage and the gang of young street rats danced this dance periodically. The sweeps were not something he enjoyed. The directive came from higher up. They would round up the vagrants as a deterrent, an inconvenience that might make some of them move on. Adults and minors were incarcerated separately and they all, the flic, the bums, the street rats, knew it was for show. If you were a proper criminal that was another affair. Those who just lived with no fixed address were detained and released. In truth, each time Ross and Dem were rounded up with their fellows they added fuel to a youth criminal record that could damn them heartily if they met trouble with the law at an older age. The "crimes" of vagrancy and association were mild within themselves but could place you as a villain in the eyes of the court, proof that you were born bad and capable of anything. Association simply meant you were known to congregate with other people that have more serious record. Ross, Dem and many of the other street children did not consider that they all now had unshakable ties to "Crazy Ace" the wildest of the bunch, in the eyes of the law. It all seemed a silly game to them but it was a true record. Crazy Ace was busted for dealing drugs and had a bad boy glamour about him even as he was still a kid. He was a cut up, always joking, always a kidder and quite sweet sometimes. He had the wrong form though, as a drug dealer and the kids got association tacked on to their record this evening. You wouldn't think it to see Dem singing in the cell like a sing song at a knees up. They were just waiting for their release and a night's dancing at Tabou. "Jesus! Out with you! Get out! Go back to your villages! Stop running about the capital like dogs!" The kids yelled saucy and cheeky retorts as they piled out on to the sidewalk and started to disperse. Crazy Ace gave Dem a salute like a soldier and gave her high praise for sassing the flic and clasped hands with Ross like a comrade. "Au revoir, Palmier! Tabou by three!" And they nodded. Ross and Dem walked up the pavement. Ross shook his head. Crazy Ace had just as good as admitted he was dealing tonight, not able to get to the club until three in the morning. "That lad will end up in La Santé for good if he keeps on like that! Not a minute past getting released!" he sighed. One might as well complain about clouds in the sky. Some kids were taking more risk than others in the scene. Forbearance was necessary. They were all in it together, so to speak. One could not be too disapproving. Dem hopped at a loping gait at Ross' side. Many of the kids knew she was a girl but she was treated as a boy by default among the other guys. They never flirted with her like the other girls. Being Ross' friend made her an 'honorary boy' in their interactions with her. Dem relished the ability to be as free as a boy. Boys were as vulnerable as girls on the street. Grown ups could seek to hurt you what ever gender you were. But Dem got to be freer than she had been at school or at the Home. Free to be loud. Free to be cheeky. Free to walk with a bit less fear in the world. She had Ross by her side. Other boys liked both of them and treated Dem like a kid brother. They accepted that Palmier were inseparable and she fell in with them. They didn't not even mind when Demelza went to the bathroom with the guys at Ross' insistence, they did not tease or peek at her. They even guarded the stall from grown ups like Ross did, standing at the door shooting the breeze until the 'boy' was finished in there. Dem liked the other girls, was friends with many of them. Dem liked being a girl but acting like a boy was such fun!

Ross looked forward to dancing tonight. Their lives were very nocturnal. They would busk in the morning until eleven or secured work in the food stalls, -someone always needed someting moved around-, they helped Madame Albaret with odd jobs and washed themselves, settled to sleep. They slept from one in the afternoon to five or six at night. Sometimes they would buy a movie ticket and sleep in the seats in shifts. They would rest in doorways or unguarded warehouses. They found a way. They emerged in the evening to find something to eat, dance the night away, sit up in the all night cafes or just hang out with friends, running the streets in the glittering lights of the warm Paris nights. Sometimes Ross or Dem would catch a catnap, in the clubs, in a park, but the other would always stay awake, on guard. They trusted no one but each other in that task. They were each other's guardian with implicit trust. It was like one long series of parties. Or it was not... There were police sweeps. There were grown ups who were threatening. There were the criminals types who tried to recruit kids into their inner workings. Some kids were attacked, badly. Some kids had run afoul of the law too many times. Sometimes they went hungry. These bad things were also true but you could take the smooth with the rough. You could live to see another day and reimagine your worst days into a tale of derring do where you were the hero and your mates had cause to look up to you. The most appalling situations could be toned down until they seemed the meerest accident for which no one was really to blame.

You change. You grow. You learn. Life on the street was a situation in which knowledge was currency and the key to making a strange lifestyle work 'properly'. Ross and Dem still busked. They still retained their innocent joys, drawing, dancing, eating pastries, reading in the bookstore and stalls until they were shooed away. They learned to fit themselves into the street. Learned their place. Learned the honor codes and mores that organized this loose affiliation between all who were outsiders in the city. The closest edge to respectability were the artists and students. The true criminal element were the furthest away. In the murky middle lay the street rats. Ross and Dem lived on the street in the warm months, building up funds to decamp to a rented room on Rue des Cannettes during the cold weather. Stockholm syndrome is a situation in which a captive or hostage begins to trust or even come to love their captor. The kids on the street, Ross and Dem included, had come to see their way of life as an inevitability, what is, and acted accordingly. They would argue that they chose their lifestyle of their own free will. There was an argument to be made that there was truth in this. It was just as true that the kids were myopic and not able to look past their situation with clear eyes. They were dropped in the middle of it with no real way to reason themselves out of it. Like a frog in a pot who cannot sense the temperature of the water around it getting hotter they became incapable of considering reasoning themselves out of this streetlife. They had friends, alliances, and thrills, for good or ill, on occasion. Who could ask for anything more? Ross and Dem enjoyed performing together and watched the daily takings in a good natured spirit of adventure. Some days were better than others. Perhaps tomorrow would bring a croque madame. Perhaps they would only manage a pastry between them. Be it feast or famine. Ross and Dem dealt with 'what was' and the idea that either of them would live in a more conventional manner did not occur to them. They were two homeless buskers who shot a policeman. That would elevate them over even Crazy Ace's notoriety if the kids knew that. Ross and Dem never spoke of their time in Marseilles. The kids thought Ross and Demelza showed up in Paris from England and Palmier did not correct the record.

It was dawn. Ross and Dem took leave of their friends having danced all night in the packed dancehall, hour after hour, until five in the morning. They ran up the street laughing, not quite able to unwind the energy of the night. Dem followed Ross in close pursuit, darting and laughing in the empty streets of a still sleeping city and greeting the pink gilded edge of the sun's rise over the chimneys pots and rooftops. Pigeons fluttered and flew out of their way, up to the lightening sky. The first milk trucks crept past, clinking their bottles. Ross jumped up on the base of a statue as Dem came round the opposite way. She smiled up at him as he grinned down at her. The heroic man on his horse did not seem to be troubled by them. He looked far off into his own destiny as Ross hung from one hand holding one of the horse's legs as he pointed further away. Dem looked to that direction. "First one to that lamppost buys breakfast!" laughed Ross. He jumped down and the race ensued. This early in the morning, two kids romping their way through the city was like a piece of a dream. The only moment and encapsulated joy. No hard times. Not following on from a late night of dancing either. Just two pals laughing and growing smaller in the distance into all that was gilded and gold and beautiful on a grand Paris morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys Keep Swinging, David Bowie 1979
> 
> Heaven loves ya  
> The clouds part for ya  
> Nothing stands in your way  
> When you're a boy  
> Clothes always fit ya  
> Life is a pop of the cherry  
> When you're a boy  
> When you're a boy  
> You can wear a uniform  
> When you're a boy  
> Other boys check you out  
> You get a girl  
> These are your favorite things  
> When you're a boy  
> Boys  
> Boys  
> Boys keep swinging  
> Boys always work it out  
> Uncage the colors  
> Unfurl the flag  
> Luck just kissed you hello  
> When you're a boy  
> They'll never clone ya  
> You're always first on the line  
> When you're a boy  
> When you're a boy  
> You can buy a home of your own  
> When you're a boy  
> Learn to drive and everything  
> You'll get your share  
> When you're a boy  
> Boys  
> Boys  
> Boys keep swinging  
> Boys always work it out
> 
> Knees up: a party
> 
> Flic: cops, police
> 
> La Santé: the Paris prison notorious for its poor conditions and mistreatment of inmates
> 
> First one to that lamppost buys breakfast!: rather than being made to pay for breakfast as the loser, they are racing for the right to choose what to eat as the prize for winning
> 
> All aboard for funtime: A line from the Iggy Pop song "Funtime" on the album "The Idiot", 1977


	46. Let's Go To Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushing the envelope

Dem walked along side Ross in silence. They finished eating in a cafe and walked back to their room, bundled up in their coats. They were back at Rue des Cannettes and Madame Albaret was as happy to see them as always. They had been less talkative recently. They had been grumpy recently. Getting back to Paris from Austria had taken weeks. Ross and Dem were often bickering over silly things. Much of the old gang still hung around the old haunts but life was getting in the way of their former good times. Too much drama had been introduced into the street. Palmier returned to open arms but distracted minds. Survival was harder now that they were older. The camaraderie sputtered in fits and starts. Everyone was busy in these cold weather days, trying to piece together the money to survive. Demelza looked to the younger rats with envy sometimes. They were still feeling the joy to be had in the sense of freedom, still young enough to tweak the noses of the flic and get away with it. Ross felt the punters were more distracted too. The takings from busking were just O.K. Perhaps people wanted to keep their fingers in their pockets in the cold weather. Perhaps Ross and Dem's bad moods were infiltrating their performances. Small escalations in the stiffening of their interactions had started occurring. They often slept back to back recently. They did not hold each other in their bed. Did not initiate it anymore. Now they didn't even face each other. They wished each other good morning and goodnight in a polite way. They talked in a desultory way sometimes not the cheerful chatter they had believed was their natural personalities. Part of it was fatigue from working all God's hours at Les Halles, carting and fetching in their fingerless gloves to build up more ready cash. Both of them occasionally annoyed at watching the spoiled rich people who thought nothing of buying expensive ingredients for their dinners. Thinking of how many weeks indoors you could have for the price of a steak or a bottle of wine. Ross and Dem came back to their room cold and tired. They spoke less and less. They drew less too. It was easier not to talk these days. They both struggled to remember who, exactly, pulled back first. They were not sure if they were to blame or the other but the breach was maintained in a spirit of stubbornness. 'If he wanted a hug he would hug me...' 'She'd hug me if she wanted to...' 'He's more grown up now, seventeen...' 'She's older, sixteen, of course she'd want more space...' It's strange to miss someone who remains right next to you. Ross glowered over his sketchbook watching Dem laughing with the Scottish guy. That backpacker that showed up in the cafes last week. Ross chided himself, 'Dem can speak to who she likes...', a kid nearby tittered, "That Malcolm might break the pastry!" suggesting that 'Palmier' would be broken. Ross' grumpy face made them laugh. Dem liked Malcolm, if nothing else, he was funny and made her laugh with conversation in English which was a treat. She looked over at Ross who averted his eyes back into his sketchbook. Ross looked grumbly. He was grumbly these days. She didn't grumble when that girl Margaret was hanging all over him the other week. Or if she did Ross didn't notice. Another girl had said, "Don't look now, that girl's going to break up the Palmier!" And the girls all laughed when Dem rolled her eyes. 'It wasn't like that...' she glowered. They showered apart these days. There was no reason to share anymore. There were other reasons for privacy as well. Both Dem and Ross had become more physically developed. The smaller breasts of Dem's younger age were larger, her figure more womanly. The dark hair on Ross' body seemed to triple in a blink. They preferred to have privacy. It was not so much that they did not want to be seen by the other. They each felt shy watching the other, shy that Ross might be caught staring at Dem. That Dem might be caught staring at Ross. Better to have privacy...

The room was dark. Ross returned from the bathroom down the hall. He set the glass and toothbrush on the small dresser among other their toiletries and odds and ends. Ross pulled off his jeans and came to his side of the bed to lay down in his shirt and underwear. Dem was similarly dressed. She still wore y front boys underwear and had her shirt on. The covers were redistributed as they resumed their positions, back to back. "Good night." She said, crisply. "Night..." said Ross dully. The silence was deafening. The squeak of the mattress springs sounded as Ross got comfortable and then silence. After about ten minutes Dem suddenly said, "I wonder what Brose is doing..." Ross opened his eyes in the dark. Light from the alley behind the building was slightly visible but not strong. A silhouette of Dem's form was seen as Ross turned to face her back. "I expect he's in his house doing a drawing..." said Ross, curious to wonder if that was so. He thought a little more. "Maybe he's reading a book, or something..." Dem sighed. "Ross?" She turned to face him. "Yes?" She was silent for a time. "When did we stop hugging?" Ross was struck dumb. "I don't know..." Ross sounded exasperated. "We just sort of... stopped..." he said with a little less aggravation. "You don't seem to want them anymore..." he said, quietly. "Neither do you..." said Dem a tenor of irritation in her voice. Ross remembered lying on a mattress in Brose's studio the first morning they woke there. They had kimonos around them and they had fallen away. They held each other naked but they were younger then. Dem's breasts were not large then. Ross regretted this line of thought. Thinking of Dem's younger breasts made him think of her current figure and that made his faithless traitor of a penis start roiling around. He turned away from her. Dem had mentioned Brose, trying to exorcise they sudden memory of kissing Ross' forehead the first morning they woke in Brose's studio. It was innocent and sweet but Dem was distracted into other thoughts. The kimonos had moved aside and Ross' held her close. She pressed her thighs together. She had no business thinking herself into excitement next to Ross. She was thinking bad thoughts... Another ten minutes went by. "Do you want a hug?" asked Dem. Ross had an erection. This was an extraordinary bad time for a hug. He did want one though. "Would you hold me, like this?" he asked. Dem knit her brow. "You mean with your back to me?" Ross seemed to curl up into himself. Rather than being alienating it seemed cute. He was curling up into a ball. Ross looked out into the dark, wishing to be in Dem's arms. "Would you hold me, Dem?" said Ross again. It had just left his mouth as she was already coming near. She was warm against his back and she put her arm over him. He held her hand. The pillow was soft under his head and he felt the warmth of her body at his back the cotton of their shirts up against each other and her breathing near the edge of his collar. It was lovely. "Thanks, Dem." he said. The sense of relief in Ross' voice made her stare forward at his back, his neck. Could she dare? She rested her forehead at his neck. "Ross?" He turned his head more towards her, still facing away bodily. "Do you think I'm pretty at all?" Ross smiled. Dem asked in a timid way, in a shy way. 'She should have no doubt about that...', thought Ross. Without hesitation he answered. "You are very pretty, Dem." Dem smiled. Ross answered with a tone in his voice that was tender, affectionate. Ross turned his head forward once more. He could feel her breath on his neck. "Prettier than some?" He giggled. She felt the warmth between their bodies, heard the squeak of the bed springs underneath them as he laughed. That made Dem happy. "Prettier than most!" and she could hear the smile in Ross' voice. She felt him squeeze her hand. He was still her friend... Would kissing him be wrong? He felt her hug him tighter. She was still his friend... Would it be bad to kiss her? "Dem?" He felt her nod. His cock felt like a piece of granite. He lost his nerve. To save face Ross said. "I like your hugs..." He fidgeted with her fingers he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. A peck on her hand. That was a bit like a kiss. They huffed a small amusement, a little laugh. Dem liked that he kissed her hand, just like that, no sense of hesitation. It was spontaneous and very sweet. "Ross?" She felt him nod, felt his breath on her hand. She felt an insistent sort of _twinge_ at her groin. She felt it and whimpered a little. His hair fell away from his neck. Ross waited for her to say something. He stared into the dark room. Ross wanted to take Dem in his arms and kiss her. Her breath was warm at his neck. The room was dark. He stared ahead and wished for a portal that would bring him to the place in the distance where Dem sang. Be in that place. Have that love... 'Oh Sweetness...' he thought, 'If you let me be your man... I would never let you go...' He blinked into the dark. The wish to kiss Dem escalated to other wishes. _The kimono fell away_... they thought. Ross felt her kiss his neck. Her lips were soft. He groaned a little in the back of his throat. He could not stop himself he rolled over to face her "Dem, I..." He meant to speak, intended to speak. In an instant her mouth was upon his. Ross sighed, from surprise, in the grip of a spiking arc of lust that unleashed itself at the touch of Dem's tongue to his own and he kissed her with passion. A new feeling. A brush fire. Dem tasted toothpaste and the taste of Ross mouth. She opened her eyes briefly to realise that his erection was pressing against her. 'He...' The thought evaporated. Ross rolled over her and started kissing her face, her neck. She closed her eyes and felt Ross covering her face and neck with kisses. _Only their knickers stood in the way of_... She could not hold her tongue, could not stop saying, "Ross! Oh Ross I want you so!" Ross gasped as he aimed his lips at her collarbone and drew his hand down her thigh. "Dem, oh Sweetness!" cried Ross, unable to whisper in his rising excitement. Dem said she wanted him the way he wanted her. "I want you so badly! Ah!" She wriggled her hand into his underwear and Ross wasted no time doing the same. "Oh!" Dem felt Ross touching her. In the darkness of the room they could see a hint of each others' eyes, wide from excitement, from lust, from the astonished realization that they were both in the grips of the same ailment. The time for shyness had evaporated. They threw off the blankets, dragged off what little they were wearing and kissed, and touched and breathlessly pleaded their intentions, their pleasure and solemn pledges of love.

They made the man in the room next door bang on the wall. He thumped on the ajoining wall with his fist in irritation over the noise they were making. The springs of the bed squeaking like a trampoline, the headboard banging at the wall, the moaning, the shrieking. The man could be heard mimicking them, mocking their outbursts through the wall. "Dem! Dem! Shut up you whores! I'm trying to sleep!" Dem could not remain quiet. She cried out from her pleasure and brought her legs around Ross' waist. "Yes! Yes, Sweetness! Put your legs around me!!" Ross said in an anguished command. "Oh god! Oh god!!" "Oh god! Oh god! Shut up will you!?" said the voice next door. "Ahhhhhhh!" The reverberations of the bed springs died away in a chorus. The desperate need to catch their breath as they collapsed in a panting heap. The man thumped on the wall again, "Shut up you dirty fairies! You faggots are a goddamned disgrace! Shut up! I'm trying to sleep! Some of us have to work for a living!" Ross looked at the wall behind the headboard in surprise, remembering that people thought Dem was a boy. He fell back on the bed and laughed, as did Dem. They laughed with all their heart and soul. Ross brought the blankets over them both. They snuggled together like they used to, close and warm. And in love. Very much in love.

Out of respect for their neighbor, when they woke from their dozing, they pulled the bed away from the wall. The bed springs creaking could not be helped but the headboard would not bang against the wall. Their enthusiasm in their pleasure would have to be tempered. However good it felt to make love, they must make less noise. That was a matter of practice, certainly. They must learn to be circumspect by practicing more. They must practice more. It was the only way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's Go To Bed, The Cure 1982
> 
> Let me take your hand  
> I'm shaking like milk  
> Turning  
> Turning blue  
> All over the windows and the floors  
> Fires outside in the sky  
> Look as perfect as cats  
> The two of us  
> Together again  
> But it's just the same  
> A stupid game
> 
> But I don't care if you don't  
> And I don't feel if you don't  
> And I don't want it if you don't  
> And I won't say it  
> If you won't say it first
> 
> You think you're tired now  
> But wait until three  
> Laughing at the Christmas lights  
> You remember from December  
> All of this then back again  
> Another girl  
> Another name  
> Stay alive but stay the same  
> It's just the same  
> A stupid game
> 
> But I don't care if you don't  
> And I don't feel if you don't  
> And I don't want it if you don't  
> And I won't say it  
> If you won't say it first
> 
> You can't even see now  
> So you ask me the way  
> You wonder if it's real  
> Because it couldn't be rain  
> Through the right doorway  
> And into the white room  
> It used to be the dust that would lay here  
> When I came here alone
> 
> Doo doo doo doo  
> Doo doo doo doo  
> Let's go to bed
> 
> Flic: cops, police
> 
> Still writing...


	47. Like An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four swans

Ross decided to ask Demelza to marry him two days after first sleeping together. He was soon to turn eighteen and Dem would be seventeen by March. He loved her dearly but there were other concerns that made matrimony an important step. The carefree days of earlier times were fading. Ross and Dem still looked quite young but the cheeky fun and scrapes that were somewhat harmless at fifteen, at sixteen and helped smooth over the difficulties of street life were less easy to find these days. Everyone was getting older. Drugs had started to become seen as a quick way to make money. It was becoming clear that some of their pals were taking drugs and becoming addicted. Some kids had looked down their noses at the old drunks passed out on the street corners were drinking too much; sidewinding from needing to beat the cold or drown ones occasional disappointments in a drink into alcoholism. Some kids who had looked down their noses at older kids selling themselves for sex when they were younger began testing that water, turning a trick or two, here and there, for quick money. Occasionally, an adult did not just toss change in the guitar case because they liked their songs. Sometimes they used it as an opening gambit to ask if Ross or Dem, or both would do other things for money. They had been propositioned by a married couple that followed them around from place to place. They looked well to do, rich. They kept after them for weeks even when Ross and Dem found other places to set up, they kept offering money to bring them to their house. "Did you think about it? Will you change your mind?" The police were not willing to see cuteness in them anymore. The fun antics in the round ups were not possible anymore. They were no longer seen as cute mischief makers. Twice when they were last detained they were summarily kicked out of the country. Ross and Dem took their bag and guitar, promising Madame Albaret they would return and wandered through Europe for weeks before they were able to hide in a truck and later in a traincar get back to Paris. They started to feel life becoming harder around them. The dark moods they both had recently were not just tetchiness from navigating their attraction to each other. Being made to leave France ate away at their peace of mind. They were in a precarious place now. If they fell afoul of the police again they might get separated. Ross was a year older than Dem and turning eighteen might get him placed with adults now. Getting married would solve some issues. They would be proper family to each other. They would have rights to stay together as spouses. Getting married would make Ross happy. Dem was his friend and now his lover. Meeting Sweetness had been the brightest part of his life since leaving home. If she married him they would never part. She would be his wife and he would be her husband and they would live happily ever after. They could find a quiet place to live and be happy. He could look after her and, after they had some time to themselves, he would bring Dem home to meet Papa and the Paynters. It could all work, if she agreed.

The December weather was cold and dreary but Ross and Dem had a renewed sense of cheer. Love has many ways of being conveyed. Ross and Demelza had loved one another quite from the first in a sympathy of personality that made them good friends. As they continued their journey, in peril, in plenty, in lean times and exile from their beloved Paris, they came to realize that love had strengthened enough between them they could agree to push the envelope and show each other love with their bodies. Demelza entered this winter in a grumpy, moody fatigue. Life seemed harsh and hard. Now glimmers of beauty were poking up like pretty crocuses growing strong and poking up their colorful blooms in the cold of the long winter. There was still a lot of winter to get through but the days felt brighter for they had enjoyed two nights full of love. They spent hours kissing, they spent acres of the night in the throes of a passion that left them both sated and craving more. Dem would lay close to Ross, as she had so many other times in their life together, and feel an uncomplicated happiness in knowing that she loved Ross and Ross loved her. The difficulties in their Paris life did not lessen but they would be easier to bear. Some nights they each would silently consider something that had not occurred to them any earlier. They began to wonder 'what next?' The smooth was becoming ground down under the rough. Many of their friends still had a friendly word and a loyalty to the camaraderie other earlier times. Many of them were becoming haunted by the ways they chose to survive. Drugs were opening discussed. Some were selling drugs. Some were using drugs. Some were stealing and ingratiating themselves with the sort of criminals Ross had left Cornwall over. Some were selling themselves for prostitution. The streets were harder, colder. There were good times still to be had. Times when everyone could agree to overlook the other's bad habits and survival methods. One could dance all night and stay friends and have that fun but what happened when morning returned? How long before the bad times and troubles and the harsher solutions of others became a quicksand that pulled you in, drowned you too? Ross and Dem had been expelled from France, more than once. They were older and becoming tired of looking over their shoulders. Tired of trudging through Les Halles. Tired of being rootless. It was an epiphany that they had not believed possible of themselves, having felt so willingly tied to this way of life. With the first flowering of love. Dem began to wonder if leaving the street and trying to find a home for themselves was a solution. This recent coming together between them gave Ross and Dem a respite from these issues and a great deal of happiness.

There were always more chances for work at Les Halles as Christmas loomed but afterwards the place was quieter, less needed doing. The pace slackened enough that Ross and Dem decided to call it a day early and left the food hall in the afternoon. They took a walk. For two young people who called the street their home, an aimless walk for pleasure's sake was a novelty they seldom indulged in. Ross had his arm around his Sweetness like a proper beau, a wonderful vantage point to see the sparkle that had returned to her eyes in recent days. The clouds of their breath from the brittle winter air dispersed beneath love struck eyes that mirrored a mutual contentment. They crossed the entrance into the park, took a walk in the park. There were not many other people. A dog walker could be seen here and there. The humped silhouettes of homeless men could be seen sleeping on benches. Some were seated upright, red nosed and snoring, clutching firm to a wine bottle like a teddy bear, some lay on the bench like a bed, dotted here and there and left alone by the police because the weather was so cold. The cold weather left the place sparsely attended. Ross and Dem walked the path further in and after a time came within sight of the merry go round, turned off for who would want to ride a merry go round in the cold of winter? The fence around it was not tall. "We could sit in that swan, Dem! Do you want to?" Grinning made Dem's teeth cold. "We'll get told off!" The street rats, what ever the state of their hygiene, were never allowed to ride the carousel, even with money in hand. The operators wanted nice children, tidy and prim looking with their parents or in their school uniforms. Street children lowered the tone of the place, and older kids just looked like troublemakers. They were turned away as undesirables. This was an annoyance for Ross who was known to complain about sense his of grievance over this unfair discrimination often. "Why shouldn't we ride the merry go round!?" He would grumble, "We have money like anyone else!" When Ross was fifteen, he had needled one operator enough in his arguments to get a clip round the ear hole. The operator slapped the side of his head and told Ross and Dem to get lost. Ross looked about. Grinned in the cold air. "Nobody's around! No guards or anything, come on...!" They got over the fence with ease. It was a delineation of space rather than a deterrent. "You keep making me climb over fences!" laughed Dem. Ross' smile widened but his voice held a timidity."You don't regret it?" he asked. Dem smiled warmly, admired Ross' dark eyes that were loving and hopeful looking. Hoping that his persuasion on that fateful day when he told her to climb over the gate of the girl's home and come away with him was still seen by her as a good thing even after all the hard times they had faced since in their travels. She answered with a kiss. A sweet surprise of a kiss at the edge of the merry go round, in the cold air. Ross sighed as she stepped back, holding his hand loosely. "Never." And she smiled into his eyes. Ross was silent as he smiled back. ' _Be my wife_...' he thought. He lifted her hand. "This way, mademoiselle!" Ross led her to a loveseat shaped like a swan. It had a swan on each side and a room enough for two. Dem sat and pulled the edge of her coat nearer to give Ross room. He sat and swallowed down a feeling of nerves that threatened to make him ill briefly. Before them and behind were prettily carved horses on their poles poised for running their endless race. Small paintings of Paris landmarks were set into rococo swirls around the edges of the roof. Chips of mirrors reflected the dull winter surfaces around them. The light bulbs were off. The bright paint on the wooden animals was cheering but the grandure of the merry go round in its lit up glory was absent. Ross looked ahead at the horses. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a proper horse and ride it?" mused Ross aloud. Dem sighed. "Oh! That would be lovely! I never rode on a horse before..." Ross smiled. "I used to ride. I can teach you, there's nothing to it really... You start to feel like you're part of the horse before long..." 'Be brave...' thought Ross. He chose his opening. Ross stroked the swan's head nearest to him with his fingers still clad in his work gloves. It was realistically carved, painted white. It's eyes had bright white dots to mimic light showing in them, made them look cheerful. The light in the swan's eye might have said, 'You can do it!' in friendly encouragement as Ross steeled himself to propose. He spoke more to the swan than Demelza. "They say swans mate for life..." Dem sighed wistfully. "You can tell sometimes. I've seen them in the lake further up the path... Do you remember?" Ross looked to her and nodded. Sometimes in the warm weather days they busked in the park and sat by the man made lake afterwards. Ross answered, "I do..." 'Please say yes...' thought Ross. Dem could see the warm weather and the green of the grass in her mind's eye. "They swim side by side and you can see they chose to be together..." Ross swallowed. "Dem?" She blinked herself back to the present. "Yes, Ross?" He turned in his seat to face her. "Will you marry me?" Demelza's mouth fell open in utter, surprise. Her face froze, as if she was about to take a bite of an apple and her eyes were wide. 'Oh no,' thought Ross, 'she doesn't want to...' He scrambled to make a convincing appeal to her. "I mean, I love you , Sweetness! I will never be rich or anything! I could look after you though! Be a proper husband to you! I mean, I mean... if you want t..." Dem kissed him. On a cold winter's day in a Parisian, merry go round, loveseat flanked by swans, she kissed Ross into oblivion. She whispered into his mouth. "Yes!" "Yes?" asked Ross, still cross eyed from being kissed so thoroughly and having his heart's desire realised. Dem pulled back to look him full in the face. "Yes!" Dem was stunned. If Ross had not wished to marry her she would not have fretted for something else; but his decision to make the union legal and permanent, his honoring her with his name, was a sort of golden crown to set upon her happiness. Dem felt compelled to ask him too, almost to assuage disbelief. "Will you marry me?" Ross hugged her, laughing. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, Sweetness! I promise to be good to you, Dem!" She pressed her eyes at his neck. Ross heard her sniffle and felt moisture at his neck. "Oh! Oh Dem! Don't cry!" said Ross in concern and tenderness. He put a hand to her head. They snuggled closer in a close press of winter coats and each other's warmth in the chill around them. "S-sometimes t-tears can b-be happy... Ross..." She spoke into his chest. "Oh, Dem! My Dem! My love!" whispered Ross with his eyes closed and a broad smile on his face. "Then I shall love your happy tears and strive to never give you sad ones!" And they held one another, among the swans, on a cold winter's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like An Angel, Duran Duran 1981
> 
> Oohh, Do-do do-do-do  
> Da da da da da
> 
> Things that you used to say  
> Now take on different meanings you realise  
> Can't be to careful about the lines  
> Come on you know you're not so young  
> You cannot hide behind disguise  
> Listen to your own desire
> 
> Eyes like an angel  
> So wise, don't lie  
> You never felt like this before  
> Fly like an angel  
> So high this time  
> You send your senses streaming free
> 
> Places you used to go  
> When you were young look different in the dark  
> Don't you worry it's O.K.  
> And maybe I can help you find your way  
> Tonight I think you will agree  
> Summer reason's run away
> 
> Eyes like an angel  
> So wise, don't lie  
> You never felt like this before  
> Fly like an angel  
> So high this time  
> You've got your senses streaming free
> 
> Oh I hear your heart beating even faster now than mine  
> Now you know just what I mean.  
> So take your place among those twilight gleaming rivers that you read  
> Give me reasons to believe
> 
> Eyes like an angel - so wise don't lie  
> You never feel like this again  
> Fly like an angel - so high this time  
> You send my senses streaming free
> 
> Like an angel... da da da-da  
> Like an angel... da da daa
> 
> Still writing...


	48. Wear Your Love Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beggar's banquet

"P"  
"O"  
"L"  
"D"  
"A"  
"R"  
"K"

Dem squeezed Ross' hand, both of them smiling as the clerk slowly typed a revised identification card in her new name. Brose's generosity continued to bless them with good fortune. They had proper identification that allowed Ross to apply for and receive a marriage license and Dem have the one in her maiden name legally changed to "Demelza Poldark" once they stood in their street clothes, dressed like any other day, to wait their turn among formally dressed couples and were proclaimed husband and wife. They scrounged up enough busking change to buy Dem a small bouquet of white roses which she brandished like a wand or a weapon as she walked to the office des marriages and clutched it like a much loved doll after the ceremony throughout the day. Initially, the owner of the flower shop was chilly toward them, believing they had no intention to buy from his shop, wondered if they might be trying to steal flowers when his back was turned. Dem asked how many roses their money could buy. When the florist was told they would marry today and Ross showed him the paperwork, puffed with pride and smiling at his gamine bride, he looked between them in their young optimism and melted. He set aside his suspicion and performed his floral design with care. The florist added extra greenery to a modest bunch, added two more blooms, above what they could afford, to fill it out prettily even as it was small, and completed his work with the white doily handle trailing a pale blue satin ribbon that denoted a bridal bouquet with his compliments. Madame Albaret permitted the fiction that her rooming house was their permanent address and the paperwork telling them they were allowed to marry was mailed there after banns were announced in the newspaper by the marriage office for four weeks. The spectacle of so many street kids of a wide range of ages loitering around the building waiting to greet Palmier on their happy day made many of the more conventional attendees nervous. Stout looking mothers held firm their handbags. Brides with the hems of their pretty tea dresses peeking from the edges of their coats or smart looking in elegant wool suits looked askance. Grooms and male relations gave hard stares at these wild looking children and shifty looking teenagers milling around them. Crazy Ace had told everyone that a party would happen in the park after they had a slap up meal at Cafe du Pont. Kids stowed away money against this event. The kids scrutinized the menu board and saved up to meet the price of what they wanted to eat. Jug wine and lemonde was stockpiled over a series of weeks and stored away safe so it would not freeze and burst the bottles as March weather remained very cold. As a present the kids had a "whip round". They each gave money to a communal pot so Palmier could have steak frites, the golden, coveted meal for all the street rats. It was a heartfelt wedding present to give the happy couple a good dinner. On the street, even a cup of coffee could be seen as a meal if that was all you had money for. Feeding a friend well was the highest and most cherished gift street rats could give each other, they who so often knew what empty bellies felt like. Food fit for a king! If you were eating a plate of steak frites you were really living!

The romance and excitement of Palmier getting married was a holiday on the street and a happy event that made the dark aspects of the current existence of their peers lighten briefly. The younger rats had no foothold yet into the more complicated world of the kids who were older. For them it was like a fairytale. 'Kids just like us, getting married like proper grown ups!' They thought. There was glamour in a girl dressed like a boy with her best friend and street pal finding love enough to wed. The older kids felt it as the pinnacle and final flourish of their more innocent old times. They remembered when life on the street was a jolly game and they had not yet fallen into the traps and unhappy deals with the devil that so marked their lives on the street now. They were older, battle worn, cynical and mixed up in more dangerous ways to survive but they had been those innocent kids once too... Palmier had kept their innocence. They worked at Les Halles and busked for money. Used their street smarts from the ages of fifteen and fourteen, living on the street in fair weather and saving for a rented room in the winter. Palmier got kicked out of France multiple times and always got back to Paris, always returned the the gang. They were as true blue on the street as you could be and they stayed on the clean path. Never sold themselves and stayed clear of hashish and the big H. Their only vice was pastries and no matter how bad circumstances got on the street they never turned their backs on the other rats. They remained true friends to everyone and were getting married like proper grown ups to boot. Ross was just turned eighteen. Many of the old gang were all getting to the point where the police would charge them as adults if they got arrested. Palmier's wedding was the end of their childhood and it brought deep, heartfelt emotions among them all. The time to party was tonight. The next day it would be back to survival. Ross said he would marry Dem and seek to move on. Find a place to live and be free with no more ducking and diving on the street. Palmier were the dream. Through them the other kids could live on knowing however hard the street life had been, there had been two of their number that made it to the end with no compromise. Ross and Dem entered and would leave the street as 'Palmier', full of music and art, fun, sweet natured and good. They stayed 'good'. Two of their pals made it out of the streetlife innocent. In this they could all celebrate and hold that dream even as some of their own were crumbling.

A huge cheer erupted as Ross and Dem emerged from the building, grinning from ear to ear and waving. Dem waved with her flowers, up in the air and the strangeness of all these degenerate kids celebrating two of their sort getting married made nearly everyone in the street laugh from the absurdity but in a good natured way. They received hugs and kisses and thumps on the back. They marched in a rowdy parade to the Cafe taking the place over and, to the owner's astonishment, paid a king's ransom in food and drink. He had a quailed to see all these scary kids rush in but they were good for it. They laughed and chattered and ate down to brass tacks, paying for everything and eating up croque madames, ham and eggs, andouille sausages, and at the middle of it all, Palmier gratefully tucking into steak frites and stopping periodically. They chewed, swallowed their bites of food and gave each other a sweet kiss when the kids demanded it of them by hitting their water glasses with their forks. A swelling crescendo of tinkling water glass chime rose and was then made inaudible by cheering as Ross and Dem gave their brand new spouse a tender peck on the mouth. "Palmier!" they cried and piled out of the cafe to the continued amusement of onlookers, onward to the park. The light on the horizon was fading. The lengthening of the days was just beginning on a cold March evening. The daylight was fading and there was much dancing and singing and drinking, of lemonade, of stronger stuff. Ross and Dem were so filled with happiness they felt in danger of their hearts bursting from it. All of their friends. All happy like the old days. All wishing them well in their coats and fingerless gloves clutching their drinks and having a ball. A magical evening. Crazy Ace stood on a park bench and used his fingers to whistle loudly. Ross, with his arm around Dem turned to look with the rest. "Oi, Palmier! The steak frites are not the only present!" A happy murmur was heard. Dem looked at Crazy Ace and almost cried from happiness. Ross was her husband. All their friends were all in the park being happy and wishing them well on their wedding day and their pal Crazy Ace was lending his irrepressable madcap to celebrate their wedding. "Come on!" He leapt off the bench and led them to the carousel, still lying idle for the winter months. "Everyone, chose a horse!" said Crazy Ace as he started to climb over the fence. "Palmier rides in the swan chair!" he called over his shoulder, rushing to the operator booth. There was a lot of commotion in the park. A cheer went up again and the police started to wonder if some sort of illegal fight either with animals or humans might be taking place in the park. As they entered they saw masses of street children climbing over the fence, pouring onto the merry go round, dark and closed for the season. The officers looked at each other. "We're going the need back up..." said one as the others nodded. Ross and Dem sat in the swan loveseat where Ross had proposed and kissed his wife in a torrid manner to cheers as the kids, young, nearly grown and in between climbed on to horses on the still, darkened carousel. There were so many kids that some doubled up on the horses. Some kids stood on the platform among the kids up on their horses drinking and carousing. Crazy Ace was tinkering with the operator booth and a hooting and howling of anticipation rose up so loud some grown up vagrants came from their benches to see what the fuss was about. The bums managed to have to best vantage point to see the happy spectacle. As they approached the merry go round lights came on in a blinding flash, a sudden vision of light and glittering mirrors, painted animals and framed scenes of Paris twirling in a carnival orchestra of steam whistles. The calliope music started up that much louder for being a dark winter's night in the confines of the silent park. The merry go round spun in a riot of color and happy laughter with a dark haired boy with a red headed friend, seated among them all, looking around them in wide eyed, laughing, happy disbelief.

"Palmier! Yay!"

When the police returned, the kids were still riding the merry go round, blazing with light and color in the dark evening with its wooden horses raising up and down. It was their due, they thought. They deserved to ride the carousel as much as anyone and they enjoyed it heartily. The kids were so happy and the calliope so loud they could not hear the police whistles. The adult vagrants vanished as the police came near. It wasn't until the flic got right up to the carousel that the kids realized they were busted. "Everyone! You are ALL trespassing! You kids get off of that thing now!" Crazy Ace pulled open his coat as if he was daring the police to shoot him. "Fuck you, cops! I ain't afraid! I will gladly get arrested for Palmier!" A howling, tremendously loud cheer went up. Crazy Ace stopped the carousel moving. This silenced the music but kept on the lights. The kids dismounted and cheerfully marched themselves into police custody behind Crazy Ace and Palmier, singing and laughing and bring the party straight into enemy territory. The police were baffled but they dutifully began packing the vans with kids and hauled them all to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wear Your Love Like Heaven, Donovan 1967
> 
> Color in sky, prussian blue  
> Scarlet fleece changes hue  
> Crimson ball sinks from view  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love)  
> Lord, kiss me once more  
> Fill me with song  
> Allah, kiss me once more  
> That I may, that I may  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love like)  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love)  
> La-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la  
> Color sky, havana lake  
> Color sky, rose carmethene  
> Alizarin crimson  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love)  
> Lord, kiss me once more  
> Fill me with song  
> Allah, kiss me once more  
> That I may, that I may  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love like)  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love)  
> La-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la  
> Cannot believe what I see  
> All I have wished for will be  
> All our race proud and free  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love like)  
> Wear your love like heaven (wear your love)  
> Lord, kiss me once more  
> Fill me with song  
> Allah, kiss me once more  
> That I may, that I may  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love like)  
> Wear my love like heaven (wear my love)  
> Carmine, carmine
> 
> The big H: heroin/opiates
> 
> There is fantasy here. Legally Ross is old enough but Dem is too young to wed without some sort of permission from a parent or guardian. Also, they might not have been allowed to wed at all because neither of them are French citizens. The artist, Vali Myers, an Australian who's life is the frame for this story was not a minor when she was in France and married her husband Rudy Rappold, an Austrian, in Vienna.


	49. La Vie En Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indelible proof

Hugh, Dwight and Caroline all laughed with delight at the ongoing tale of the Poldarks' wedding day. Lord Falmouth smiled warmly, starting to understand why Interpol had no crimnal record for "Demelza Poldark" All of Dem's arrest paper trail must have been in her maiden name, thought Lord Falmouth. It had been a simple, if delicate, business quietly working through Consulate channels to get passports for Ross and Dem. Ross Vennor Poldark had multiple vagabonage and association charges listed at a minor age in France. Demelza Poldark was unknown to them in a criminal sense. She was listed as Ross' legal spouse in France as "Demelza Poldark"; perhaps a clerical error or misfiled paperwork was to blame for her maiden name would certainly have had to have been in the banns announcement in the newspaper. That other Dem, of minor age, with a record as chequered as Ross' probably lived in some police filling cabinet somewhere in some dusty records office in France and decoupled from the martial records. The United Kingdom enfolded two of its wayward citizens back into its bosom. With discreet help from an immigration lawyer, Lord Falmouth helped secure right of travel for his nephew's good friends. He had come to feel that he had friends in the Poldarks too since they came to stay. Hugh, his uncle, Dwight and Caroline were also startled to realise Ross and Dem were true newlyweds, not yet married a full year. The grown ups had gone from shock that such young looking kids could be married at all to absorbing the fact as so true their union seemed eternal. The pace and rhythm of the Poldarks' life was strange and magical. They could have lived, loved and traveled for a hundred years to hear them speak of their adventures, yet they were only dealing within a period of three years, only just wed on top of it all. Ross and Dem were nostalgic over their wedding memories in light of Dem's pregnancy. Their eyes seemed to shine even brighter and Ross sat with his arm around his wife and they sat in the library telling of that magical night.

The kids sang incessantly. The facing cell was held the grown ups. This night the cell had some hard case types and a tussle over where Ross should be detained ensued. By age they had the right to put him with the adults. After Ross argued that he not be separated from his wife, with papers to prove it, he was allowed to remain with the kids. Crazy Ace, not yet eighteen, breathed a sigh of relief. The grown ups were scary looking this night including a guy who had tattoos on his face! The kids gave the grown ups wide berth from the adjoining wall of metal bars that separated them. "What a racket! Why don't you kids shut up!" said the tattooed man in a grumpy mood. Crazy Ace, never one to admit fear sassed the man he had been most nervous of. There were bars between them after all. "Shut up yourself! Palmier got married!" Another cheer went up. The man frowned. "None of you rats are old enough for that! You're full of shit!" Ross, not looking to be rude but wanting to defend his status lifted his marriage license over his head with a sunny smile of happiness, for all to see, to more cheers. All the grown ups in the a joining cell looked surprised. The tattooed man knit his brows. This kid looked the youngest of the lot. He looked, squinted. The red head next to him looked kind of, sort of feminine. She had a small bouquet of white roses. They looked like babies! Neither kid had rings. "Where's your rings? You don't have rings?" Ross looked embarrassed. He could not buy rings. He did not have the money to give his bride a ring let alone for both of them. "We don't have rings, but we have our proof!" said Ross, tilting up his chin in a small show of defiance. The tattooed man gave a snort of derision. "You gonna wave that paper around?! Quai? You can't keep doing that!" A girl in the corner tittered, "He just did, grandpa!" Everyone laughed, even the men. These kids were cheeky, like they had been at that age. He frowned again and gestured to Ross and Dem with a flick of his hand. "How are people supposed to know you belong together?" They looked dumbstruck. Dem, knowing that Ross felt disappointment over not being able to buy rings for them defended their intentions. "We'll get wedding rings... Someday..." She looked so earnest in defense of her husband the man, so grumpy and hard looking, smiled then. They all were the sort of kids he had been, street rats... He started rooting around in his pockets. He had odd things that for what ever reason the flic had not taken from him. A old fashioned ink bottle and a handkerchief. "You two come here!" The kids all looked about, nervously. The grown ups looked scary tonight. Grown ups could hurt you if they got a hold of you through the bars. Even if the guards were called for they could hurt you in a small span of time, twist your wrist or ankle the wrong way, grope at you... The rats kept clear of the bars where the older detainees were. Ross and Dem stared and he smiled again. These kids were proper street kids, not chancers playing at homelessness with a house and parents in their back pocket for insurance. They knew not to just trot over to the cell bars. He had been that young once. He knew what grown ups were capable of. "You two need better proof. Proof that won't get lost or burn up in fireplace! You come here..." He removed three thin, extremely fine sewing needles from the corner of the handkerchief that was stained with ink. He wrapped them close together with thread and looked up. "...You come put your hand through the bars. You need to match! I'm gonna make it so you match..." The kids were intrigued. Some of them had homemade tattoos. To get their hands to match with tattoos seemed very romantic. This guy had "good" tattoos. On his hands, even on his face, the hint of some on his feet and legs by his shoes. Skillful, thin lined ones though they were primatively done. Dem looked at Ross with a tentative smile. A tattoo that visible was a daring thing to do. It wasn't the mark of a lady or a gentleman. It was indelible proof that would show the world that they were outsiders, together. Ross shared the little thrill of rebellion this contained. Ross raised his eyebrows. 'Yes?' said his face. Her grin mirrored his 'Yes!' they came to the bars and he sat cross legged on the floor. "Sit... Sit... Put you hand on my knee." The kids all gathered around to watch. They stared at their hands between the bars on the man's knees as he was unscrewing the cap from the ink bottle. "I'm gonna put it on your ring finger. What should it be? What do you want?" Ross and Dem looked at each other as all the kids discussed possibilities and vied to suggest a good idea. "Get diamonds!" "Put a band around like a real ring!" "Get a lucky clover!" "A heart! A heart!" Dem and Ross whispered, heads close together. At this vantage point, the tattooist was even more struck by how young they looked. Dem nodded. Ross looked up, looked at their friends and through the bars at the man. "A star!" The kids agreed at once with cooing from the girls and growls of triumph from the boys. Simple, easy to decipher and a dreamy sort of symbol that so matched their Palmier. Two starry eyed rats eating their pastries and looking so loving. Dem often sang looking into the distance like she might be searching for a star. The tattooist crinkled his eyes in humor. It changed his face. It made him seem less frightening. With care he stabbed the three needle points on their ring fingers, Ross first, then Dem. Each prick left ink under their skin. It hurt but not badly. Poked over and over again by three, tightly bound needles as he dipped their tips in ink. This man was good at his craft. There could not be any errors, the design must be correct because the ink was permanent once the needles broke the skin. He made a five pointed star and extended the points so they were crisply defined. He was careful to have them the same size. He suggested the ring finger not only because they were married with no rings but also they were so young. The stars were large enough to be seen but the kids could wear rings over the tattoos, to hide them, if they had to. He had tattooed his own face, declaring to the world that he didn't give a damn about convention. These two could cover these marks if need be. They would have credit in the straight world if they needed it. Not every rat should end up like him...

"You didn't worry it would go septic?!" asked Caroline, a little disturbed at the idea of letting a strange man with a grubby handkerchief poke them with inky sewing needles. Dem looked to Ross who pressed his lips in the sort of smile that keeps laughter at bay. Dem scrunched her eyes with mirth and opened them in a warm smile towards their friends. They had not considered being injured by the tattoos. The lived on such a different plane of existence on the street, in and out of jail, living by their wits among the world of outsiders, they lived for the day and sought to greet the next one. No more no less. "No, we just wanted proof we belonged together," said Dem. Ross chimed in, "It didn't hurt much!" He rubbed his thumb over Dem's ring finger, over the star that matched his own. "We did not have rings. He did us a good turn..." he blinked in a sudden thought. "We never asked him his name..." Hugh and Dwight exchanged a glance. The mystery of the Poldarks' wedding rings had been a source of consternation and wonder for the grown ups. The gold rings and the chains they wore them on were very high quality, expensive, fine jewelry. Lord Falmouth looked among his nephew and his guests. As curious as he was to hear how the Poldarks came into possession their wedding rings the hour had grown late. "Perhaps this is a good place to end the night. It grows late..." They agreed and the Enyses were seen off with happy goodbyes. The promise of tomorrow's story was anticipated with a great deal of curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Vie En Rose, Grace Jones 1977
> 
> Des yeux qui font baisser les miens  
> Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche  
> Voilà le portrait sans retouche  
> De l'homme auquel j'appartiens  
> Quand il me prend dans ses bras  
> Il me parle tout bas  
> Je vois la vie en rose  
> Il me dit des mots d'amour  
> Des mots de tous le jours  
> Et ça me fait quelque chose  
> Il est entré dans mon coeur  
> Une part de bonheur  
> Dont je connais la cause  
> C'est lui pour moi  
> Moi pour lui  
> Dans la vie  
> Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie  
> Et dès que je l'aperçois  
> Alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat  
> When he takes me in his arms  
> And whispers love to me  
> Everything's lovely  
> It's him for me and me for him  
> All our lives  
> And it's so real what I feel  
> This is why  
> Et dès que je l'aperçois  
> Alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat  
> La vie  
> La vie en rose, la vie en rose  
> Ohh, la vie  
> La vie en rose  
> La vie en rose, la vie en rose  
> La vie en rose, la vie en rose  
> La vie en rose, la vie en rose  
> La vie en rose, la vie en rose  
> Je t'aime voir toujours
> 
> Louis Armstrong, 1947
> 
> Hold me close and hold me fast  
> The magic spell you cast  
> This is la vie en rose
> 
> When you kiss me, Heaven sighs  
> And though I close my eyes  
> I see la vie en rose
> 
> When you press me to your heart  
> And in a world apart  
> A world where roses bloom
> 
> And when you speak  
> Angels sing from above  
> Every day words  
> Seems to turn into love songs
> 
> Give your heart and soul to me  
> And life will always be  
> La vie en rose
> 
> tattoos on his face: the stigma of tattoos as a mark of criminality has lessened over the decades. In the 1960s visible tattoos were taboo and frowned upon. Having them on your face or neck is still seen as extreme, back then it was really, really, beyond the pale, deviant
> 
> go septic: become infected, Caroline is not wrong to be squicked out. Transmission of blood borne diseases as well as bacterial infections are possible with this sort of tattooing. India ink looks black but takes on a blue tinge under the skin. Chapter one, "Blue Stars"(the only chapter in the series that is not a song title), is named for Ross and Dem's tattoos as well as being a personal symbol between musician Patti Smith and her close friend, photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. In 1970, Patti Smith had a lightning bolt tattooed on her knee using this technique by Vali Myers at the Chelsea Hotel in New York City.
> 
> Still writing...


	50. No One Is To Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding present

Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer  
Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler  
Peu m'importe, si tu m'aimes  
Je me fous du monde entier  
Tant que l'amour inondera mes matins  
Tant que mon corps frémira sous tes mains  
Peu m'importent les problèmes  
Mon amour puisque tu m'aimes

J'irais jusqu'au bout du monde  
Je me ferais teindre en blonde  
Si tu me le demandais  
J'irais décrocher la lune  
J'irais voler la fortune  
Si tu me le demandais  
Je renierais ma patrie  
Je renierais mes amis  
Si tu me le demandais  
On peut bien rire de moi  
Je ferais n'importe quoi  
Si tu me le demandais

Si un jour la vie t'arrache à moi  
Si tu meurs que tu sois loin de moi  
Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes  
Car moi je mourrais aussi  
Nous aurons pour nous l'éternité  
Dans le bleu de toute l'immensité  
Dans le ciel, plus de problèmes  
Mon amour crois-tu qu'on s'aime?

Dieu réunit ceux qui s'aiment

When Ross and Dem were pulled from the cell to be processed before release, all the grown ups in the adjoining cell, even the drunkest of them, even the most hardened looking of them sang "Hymne a L' amour", a sentimental song, in honor of these two rats who sealed their union with prison tattoos. These kids might find a way out that was denied to these men who recognized themselves in these kids. These kids might go down in a blaze of glory. These kids might play their last card and lose at the game of life, set themselves on the road the men had found themselves on now, no way out. The two lovebirds watched the stars come into being with the boy resting his head on his wife's shoulder, the girl's cheek at her husband's hair, both in blue jeans with pretty white roses on her lap trailing a satin ribbon. Both in second, maybe even third hand, beaten up coats. Watching with quiet feeling as the kids around them stood as hushed as church. All of them, these street rats, watching this no good, low down, roughneck, hard case, man tattoo the couple's fingers with paternal care and the skill of a jeweller. Watching these two sitting together getting stars put on their fingers and their gang standing around them in the cell watching the process in happiness, so many of them clearly on the way to worse in their trajectory of life on the street and all of them just as young and sweet as the married couple was poignant. It wasn't their fault they were wild... Was it anyone's fault they were street rats? One could blame the parents, blame society, blame the kids themselves... Did it matter? By the time you lived where you stood was there blame to be had anymore? These men had the stars removed from their eyes long ago but they still had a heart. The flic, the dowdy middle class, the rich bastards, they hadn't a care for these kids, for the kids they had been now that they were grown men, didn't care about these men. They were all seen as degenerates, as criminals who could and should rot away in La Santé. But they had feelings too. It wasn't their fault that the young and the old in these adjoining cells were "bad". No one was to blame, that's just life sometimes. They caught the falling knife of life by the blade rather than the handle. The outsiders. Their lot in life. Two street kids surrounded by friends in a holding cell, trying to be together in this wicked world touched even the hardest heart this night. They sang for themselves as much as the kids.

"Is it a full moon tonight?" Asked Officer Vage as the first two kids were brought in. "Why are they singing like that?" he asked. The kids singing in the cells was a common nuisance, the adults singing was deeply strange. The other police officer just shrugged and told Ross and Dem to sit. "Here's the happy couple!" snickered the other policeman. Vage was not aware of the marital status of these two, he thought his colleague was being sarcastic because these two had been yanked in here, as a pair, for years. He rolled his eyes. The red head was always an instigator, making mischief, encouraging singing and dancing about without a care in the cells as if getting a list of minor offenses as long as your arm was just a game. Today he had a bunch of roses he must have stolen. "Ooh la la!" said Officer Vage tsking at their tattoos. "Now you've disfigured yourselves!" repeating himself in English for their benefit. He shuffled through the paperwork in front of him Tom Smith and Ross Vennor Poldark had been in and out of here before. The dark haired boy had "graduated". Vage stood to get a clean sheet of paper with the offical letterhead to type a new record. Ross was eighteen, his juvenile record would not be expunged. It would be an addendum to his spanking brand new adult record. They looked untroubled. They probably thought they were getting released like every other time. They sat looking at each other, goo goo eyed. Drugs had been a scourge in recent years. "Are you under the influence of drugs?" he asked sternly. Dem smiled at Ross. Ross smiled at Dem. He looked between them, quizzically. They looked at each other all blinky like Kewpie dolls at a fun fair. "No, sir," They said. He stared. "You are Tom Smith?" Dem broke out of her reverie and looked forward, looked nervous. She was frightened that admitting her deception in her alias would get her into trouble but she was a Poldark now anyway, their marriage license said so. "No, sir. I am a girl and Ross is my husband." Vage looked at them both in disbelief. "Quai?!" He looked at 'him' sharply. The fine features of the face reassembled themselves into a girl's face. The flowers... "You are a girl and you are married to this boy?" They nodded. "You have proof of this?" Officer Vage having believed 'Tom Smith' to be a stateless British boy with no identification, was handed an official I.D. bearing the likeness of the kid in a little black and white photograph identifying her as an English subject of the United Kingdom, "Demelza Poldark, 17 years of age. He frowned. These two had hit a crescendo this night. Criminal trespass and breach of the peace, not just rounded up off the streets. Ross, now eighteen, was about to be processed to be put in front of a judge who would take one look at his juvenile record and keep him detained for court. At seventeen, this girl was still a minor but her subterfuge in her identity, association charges with the drug dealer Crazy Ace and now her husband with one foot in jail would damn her too. And she would be on the street alone with her husband inside... Officer Vage looked at them over these papers in his hands. They had proper identification and a marriage license. He looked down at the paperwork on the desk in front of him. The only thing standing in the way of the boy's first booking was him... "So you two broke into the carousel with your accomplice, Remfrey Flamank," They both blinked in incomprehension. Officer Vage rolled his eyes. "Crazy Ace." Ross and Dem nodded. The policeman shook his head. Of course they only knew the street nickname. He continued. "And turned it on inviting your pals to have a ride?" Ross became serious. If anyone got in trouble, let it be him not Crazy Ace, not the others. "Yes sir. I take responsibility, sir. We wanted to ride the carousel to celebrate our wedding. They don't let rats ride on the carousel...sir. I'm sorry. It was my fault." Vage looked at Dem. "And you have been thumbing your nose at me for years pretending to be a boy?" Dem wilted a little. This was the longest they ever had cause to wait to be released. He also had a different form to fill out, not just their files. It dawned on her that they were not going to be released. They would processed in truth this night, charged, not just sent away. They were in trouble. She cleared her throat a bit. "Yes, sir." Vage looked at these two. _They look so young_... thought Officer Vage. The trajectory of all the jailhouse drama with these street rats, these homeless kids, was accelerating in bad ways recently. There had been a drug overdose in the juvenile cells last week. Some kids were coming in for prostitution rather than the less troublesome round ups from the streets and cafes. More fights, more drunks, more social ills. The inexorable slide to criminality that these kids were probably born to inhabit, troublemakers all, was becoming the norm. And here, in the dry language of these papers, "criminal trespass and breach of the peace" were really a bunch of kids with no families trying to celebrate their friends' wedding by taking the one joy of childhood society could have allowed them for the sake of their age and denied them over the sake of their form. Officer Vage would not want his children sharing a merry go round with kids like these but weren't they also kids, truly...? Perhaps it made better sense to save the paperwork for a "proper" crime. Overlooking one final, harmless antic on the dawn of Ross Poldark becoming old enough to get charged was just. This was certainly less serious than some of the crimes these kids were coming in with these days. No judge would find humor or harmlessness in this business. No judge would see that this had been a lark of a kiddie wedding party. Poldark would end up in La Santé... Vage looked between them. _Too young_. These two were so often in front of him he went to "P" and "S" in the filling cabinet reflexively. How often is that, that you know them on sight? How do these children end up in here? And they married each other. This girl who had foxed him for... years now, isn't it? How many years do you see the same faces? Vage knew this kid, knew this kid's face whatever the gender. ' _She looks scared_...' She never looked scared before. Cheeky. A smart aleck. 'That's the kid I've seen, not this nervous girl. She knows the stakes are too high this time, they were in proper trouble... On her wedding day...' He looked at the papers in front of him. 'Let them off,' he thought. 'No girl should look this frightened on her wedding day...' He put the unused sheet to the side. He put their paperwork back in their folders. It was up to them. If they were foolish enough to be dragged back in here that's another matter. In the now, by his discretion, Ross Vennor Poldark and Tom Smith would live as minor aged vagabonds in the filing cabinet. He did not make an adult sheet for Ross. He did not correct the record to transfer 'Tom Smith's' information to the bride's real name. He would not drag Crazy Ace and the rest of them in here. He gave them all a break. He sat, pushed their I.D.s and license across the desk and spoke to Ross and Dem in seriousness as they took their papers back. "You can go." said Officer Vage. "You and your wedding guests are free to go, consider that my wedding present to you both on behalf of Les Archers. Ross and Dem looked at him, dumbstruck. Ross because it had only just dawned on him that Vage's first intention was to book them and Dem, astonished and relieved to be given a reprieve. He did right. Vage could tell he did right. Other kids might blunder their way back in the cells within twenty four hours but they, M. Poldark and his wife, the red headed scamp who led sing alongs in the cells when those older rats all still had a little innocence left in them deserved a ride on the carousel with their friends. They did not deserve to have the boy incarcerated over something so sad. For wasn't it sad? How many of these kids might have had a better chance to right themselves if they had been allowed something as basic to a child as a ride on the carousel? These kids were seen and treated as deplorable at an age so young perhaps they saw no other recourse than to crest into that role, grow into the suit of clothes society stitched them into. "Go on, Monsieur et Madame Poldark, allez, you and your guests will be released." He paused, still looking stern. "I wish you every happiness."

They were too baffled and relieved to thank him. They left the office in a daze as Officer Vage followed and told the other policeman to release all the other kids with no paperwork tonight, just kick them all out. The roar of victory as the kids piled out of the cells was deafening. Officer Vage gave them the side eye, leaned up against the wall, arms crossed, as they bounded out all bravado and sass. He tipped his chin up to call over their heads, "Go back to your villages!" And, in unison with a bit of affection, the street rats of the Left Bank cried, "Stop running the streets of the Capital like dogs!" And even The Flic had to smile. Even Vage had to smile as he shook his head at these crazy kids and went back to his office. Officer Vage returned to see the bouquet of roses left on the desk. It might have been forgotten. It might have been "thank you". He hung it on the corner of his bulletin board, upside down to let the roses dry. It remained there, the greenery dried up, the white roses growing darker, more beige and more brittle until 1978 when the reorganization of the police department made it necessary to move. The flowers and leaves disintegrated but Inspector Vage kept the doily with its attached satin ribbon and installed it, with no explanation to his comrades, on the wall of his new office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No One Is To Blame, Howard Jones 1986
> 
> You can look at the menu, but you just can't eat  
> You can feel the cushion, but you can't have a seat  
> You can dip your foot in the pool, but you can't have a swim  
> You can feel the punishment, but you can't commit the sin
> 
> And you want her, and she wants you  
> We want everyone  
> And you want her and she wants you  
> No one, no one, no one ever is to blame  
> You can build a mansion, but you just can't live in it  
> You're the fastest runner but you're not allowed to win  
> Some break the rules, and let you cut the cost  
> The insecurity is the thing that won't get lost
> 
> And you want her, and she wants you  
> We want everyone  
> And you want her and she wants you  
> No one, no one, no one ever is to blame
> 
> You can see the summit but you can't reach it  
> It's the last piece of the puzzle but you just can't make it fit  
> Doctor says you're cured but you still feel the pain  
> Aspirations in the clouds but your hopes go down the drain
> 
> And you want her, and she wants you  
> We want everyone  
> And you want her and she wants you  
> No one, no one, no one ever is to blame
> 
> No one ever is to blame  
> No one ever is to blame
> 
> "Hymne a L'amour" Edith Piaf 1950
> 
> The blue sky over us can collapse on itself  
> and the ground can (really) cave in.  
> Little matters to me if you love me  
> I couldn't care less about the whole world  
> As long as love will flood my mornings  
> As long as my body will tremble under your hands  
> The problems make little difference to me  
> My love, because you love me.
> 
> I will go to the end of the world  
> I will dye my hair blond  
> If you ask me to  
> I will go take down the moon  
> I will steal fortune  
> if you ask me to.
> 
> I will renounce my country  
> I will renounce my friends  
> if you ask me to.  
> One could really laugh at me  
> I will do anything  
> if you ask me to.
> 
> if one day life tears you away from me  
> if you die than you will be far from me  
> what's it matter if you love me  
> because I will die too.  
> We will have for us, eternity  
> in the blue of all the immensity  
> in heaven, no more problems  
> my love do you believe that we love each other  
> God, reunite those who love each other.
> 
> Kewpie doll: a little baby figure with big eyes
> 
> La Santé: the Paris prison known for its poor conditions and mistreatment of inmates
> 
> "with her husband inside": incarcerated
> 
> Les Archers/the archers: In Parisian slang, the police were sometimes known as "the archers", a very old slang term in reference to the archers of the long-defunct (established in 1254) Royal Watch. Less derisive than "flic"
> 
> By the 1970s, Vage went up the ranks to Inspector. After 1966 the title was modernized to Lieutenant, but I kept the older terminology in this since the story is set in a (nebulous) mid to late Sixties.
> 
> We've hit another gap. Still writing, back soon...


	51. Always And Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together

Madame Albaret congratulated Ross and Dem when they returned from the police station having shed the kids who yelled and teased, loudly through the Paris streets, of the prospect of their wedding night by degrees. In their twos and threes they took their leave. Everyone left Palmier to their own devices with knowing smiles and blush inducing jokes, letting them return to their quarters without an entourage. The landlady handed Dem the pastry box they had left in her care before they went to the marriage office. They thanked her, bid her goodnight and went to their room. They readied for bed like any other night, Dem first, Ross second. They did not brush their teeth for the pastry awaited them. Dem sat on the bed grinning at Ross, eyes bright. Ross smiled shyly, no less happy, awed to realize that Sweetness was now Demelza Poldark, his wife to love and cherish and be friends with forever. He knelt on the bed and let the mattress settle its springy quivering as they sat with the little pastry box between them. They blinked anticipation. They splurged for the one cake they both coveted for years but never bought. Always the most expensive and too dear to try even as it tempted them with its pretty, pastel color through the case. Palmier were careful with their money and could never justify the expense. Tonight they were man and wife. It was only right that they celebrate their marriage with the most elusive, white stag of pastries, a Nicéen. "You, open it Dem!" said Ross in breathless excitement. Dem giggled and obeyed he husband. Within the white box in a frothy tuft of tissue was an oblong petit four of pale purple with a single red dot of candied cherry, the size of a peppercorn, gracing the center of the cake. A strong scent of sugar and vanilla wafted up at them and they breathed it in with a sigh. They admired the small cake in its box. "It's almost a pity to eat it," sighed Ross. Dem closed her eyes and let the scent of the cake fill her nostrils. "Do you want the cherry, Ross?" Ross smiled. "Not if you want it, Dem!" He looked away, bashful to suggest his intention. "I could feed it to you, if you wanted..." He blinked back towards her and she nodded, 'yes'. With a small hint of nerves Ross plucked the tiny bit of cherry from the fondant frosted cake and held it pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He let it rest upon his forefinger. "Mrs. Poldark," he smiled. Dem, not removing her gaze from Ross' eyes, parted her lips and he gently placed the piece of cherry in her mouth. A tiny soft speck that did taste of itself and disappeared. Ross placed his finger in his mouth, the taste of his wife's mouth as potent a sweet. They leaned forward over the box to share a peck of a kiss and looked at the cake once more. A small indentation was left where the garnish had been. They were married and about to share a Nicéen. They were safe within four walls with a bathroom down the hall and a bed to sleep in. They had celebrated with all their friends and avoided being charged in their arrest for riding the carousel. Ross had Dem. Dem had Ross. This was the most wonderful night on the face of the earth. Ross and Dem gave one more sigh of happiness before Dem picked up the cake from its wrapping and raised it to Ross' lips. He grinned and then took a bite. Dem tasted the edge closest to her and they both closed their eyes in a reverie of sugary cake. A Nicéen was a moist, vanilla cake that was coated in a smooth, sweet fondant colored pale purple from candied violet petals ground so fine that no stray specks could be seen and gave a whispered remembrance of its floral favor from its coloring. It was velvety and dense inside rather than an airy sponge cake and a moist from being doused in a sugar syrup steeped with vanilla beans. No sharp taste of liquor to startle the palette. It was wonderfully sweet and tasted as if fairies left them at the patisserie door, fresh baked by moonlight in their magical kitchens. Scandalously small for the price they commanded and covetable because of it. It was a foolish thing to spend hard earned money on. It was sweet and delicious and there was one bite left. Dem set it back in the box with a cheeky grin and Ross started laughing, lightly. If there was one bite left it should be dessert in truth. Ross got up and put the box on the dresser. Previous experience suggested that leaving the box on the bed might injure the cake. The bed was very springy. "Dem, come here..." whispered Ross as he turned from the dresser. She rose and crossed the small space between them to face him. At once they closed their eyes and shared a wedding kiss that tasted of cake. Dem put her hands to his head and felt Ross sigh in her mouth as he pivoted his face to meet her ardor. Her husband. Ross put his hands at her waist and brought her close to him. His wife. With a slowness born of longing and the realization that they were wed in truth, they removed their clothes and returned to bed.

The sheets and blankets covered the Poldarks entirely. They were lazy and nude and had one bite each of Niceen left on the dresser. Dem lay in Ross' arms her limbs heavy from the contented fatigue of their lovemaking. It had not been the frantic, excitable fucking they so often indulged in. It was as slow as a dare. It was a sumptuous raft of kisses, a sure and rapid thrust forward to begin, unspooling into a soft, dreamy rocking that brought pleasure in waves like the reverberation of a chime as a bell sounded and stilled or rings casting out into infinity at the toss of a stone into a pool of water. A insistent repetition punctuated with kisses and stirrings and caresses that became a languid dreamscape of sensation. It was long and slow. It was a boy and a girl. It was a man and a woman. They shared their responsibilities in this enterprise. He was on top, he made love to Dem. She was on top, she made love to Ross. He was on top once more, he would see her pleasure unfold beneath him and claim his own in holy matrimony. They rolled over once more and he made love to her, much as when they began, as they met their end, quickening in the haste they so often utilized but achieved a balance within this night, this nuptial bliss. A quieter coming together as pleasure gripped them. Pleasure that might have been an instant or the length of a hundred years. A cry like a cat or a baby. A ragged breath like a prayer. A warm bed in a rooming house in France with a husband and a wife and two bites left of Nicéen.

"I love you, Sweetness..."

"I love you, Ross..."

Dem snuggled closer. A small space between the pillow and the blankets let the cooler air of the room revive them near their forheads as their bodies stayed warm and near, covered in the blankets up to the tops of their heads. A sheen of perspiration between them. Small throbs of their veins, their hearts close together and finding each other's rhythm. A sharp scent of sex between their bodies, a sweet scent of the Nicéen perfumed their breath. A pact to kiss each other until their hunger overtook them and they sated it with each other rather than the rest of the cake. They loved once more and slept. They woke in the night after sleeping soundly. Still night, not yet dawn. "Do you want more cake?" asked Ross. Dem nodded with a smile. "Yes!" She bounded out of bed to retrieve the Nicéen. She climbed back into bed as Ross sat up. He fed her a bite of cake. She fed him his. They licked each other's fingers in mischief and lay back in the bed, watching the dark room around them and their spouse near. Ross held Dem as she kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair. It was not an instinct of tidiness, it was a mark of ownership to some degree. This boy was hers in her heart, in truth, her husband. Dem had little cause to have faith in her life. Her mother was gone. Her father beat her bloody at the slightest provocation. The matrons at the Home, so sinister in their Jekyll and Hyde strangeness, so nice to outsiders and so mean to the girls. Much in Dem's life was dark and sad. But she had a glimmer of true faith this night. She was a Poldark. Ross Poldark was her wedded husband. He came out of nowhere and brought her onwards to join him in a grand adventure. Even in their hard times, Ross proved over and over that his word was his bond. Ross never left her side. He never faltered. Even when they stared down the threat of death in Marseilles, he promised to stay with her. She had faith and it was a new sensation. She could trust the boy in her arms when all else in her life previous to this point had let her down. Demelza Poldark could trust her husband, always and forever. Ross closed his eyes and concentrated on the calming feeling of Sweetness in his arms, feel her stroking his hair. It felt loving and nearly maternal. A girl who cared for him and remained by his side in loyal friendship for three years. Ross had cause to be disappointed by life frequently but, in Dem, he found cause for faith. A sensation he was almost scared to acknowledge from his ongoing track record of bad decisions and loss. He remembered waking from a nightmare once and Mama stroking his hair quite as Dem was now. He was small enough that Mama seemed all encompassing and a pillar of safety. Mama was here and the monsters in his dreams could not stand against her. She vanquished them and stroked his hair, gently. Would that she could have met Sweetness. That Claude... If they had remained alive would he even be here now? If he had a happy life, his family untouched by tragedy, he may not have gone off the rails, left home and stumbled upon the back wall of a girl's home and heard the voice of one of its inmates singing to the sky from its garden. Dem stroked his hair. Ross had a sudden clarity of thought. His hard times had saddened him but they had also set his feet on the path to meet this girl who had become his lawfully wedded wife. He was filled with a queer sense of enlightenment. It seemed to him that all his life had moved to this pinpoint of time down the scattered threads of eighteen years; from his old childhood running thoughtless and barefoot in the sun on Hendrawna sands, from Demelza's upbringing in cruelty at the hands of her father and those battleaxes at the Home. All had been animated to a common end. 'If we could only stop time... If I could stop life for a while,' thought Ross, 'I would stop here. Yes, just for a time. If one could stop time. Not when we met, not when we quit the street and move on from here. I should like to stop time just now and feel her hand at my hair in a darkened room in Paris and know that she loves me and I need her. I love Sweetness but I need her too.' Dem's was the only wisdom and the one thing that Ross could count on to be changeless and untouchable... 'In this damned world...' 'Dem is seventeen and I am eighteen and we have found together a companionship few people know. God, let me keep it! For once in my life let me have it to hold and not have it taken away from me... God, don't let me down! You let me down, more than once in my life. Dem is my wife. I can feel this is different. This is special. Don't take this faith away from me! This is all I ask of God. Let me hold it!' Dem felt moisture at her breast, Ross was crying. "Ross?" He found it hard to speak. He did not want to worry her. He gulped a bit of calm for himself, to sniff back some tears and speak. She scooted down into the sheets to lay beside him and look at him. "Are you alright? Why are you crying?" she asked, tender and concerned. He nodded, sniffed once more. "These are my happy tears..." He smiled. Dem had cried tears of joy when he asked her to marry him and he found it sweet. That he had cause to cry happy tears himself was a sort of blessing. A new sensation. Dem had brought him through a veil to a private place of mystery where they could reside together and carry the knowledge of its beauty in their hearts. "I am happy, Dem," whispered Ross. "Very happy..." She smiled in the dark. Ross turned to get comfortable as she loosened her grasp to let him rearrange himself. Settled, she held her husband, nestled in their bed. They slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always And Forever, Heatwave 1977
> 
> Always and forever  
> Each moment with you  
> Is just like a dream to me  
> That somehow came true, yeah
> 
> And I know tomorrow  
> Will still be the same  
> 'Cause we got a life of love  
> That won't ever change and
> 
> Everyday love me your own special way  
> Melt all my heart away with a smile  
> Take time to tell me you really care  
> And we'll share tomorrow together  
> Ooh baby, I'll always love you forever
> 
> Ever, ever, ever  
> There'll always be sunshine  
> When I look at you  
> It's something I can't explain  
> Just the things that you do  
> If you get lonely  
> Call me and take  
> A second to give to me  
> That magic you make and
> 
> Everyday love me your own special way  
> Melt all my heart away with a smile  
> Take time to tell me you really care  
> And we'll share tomorrow together  
> Baby, baby, I'll always love you, forever
> 
> Ooh baby, ooh baby  
> Forever  
> (Always, forever love you)  
> Love you, love you  
> Always  
> (Always, forever love you)  
> Ever, ever, ever, forever  
> (Always, forever love you)  
> (Always, forever love you)  
> Ever, ever, ever, forever  
> And always I'll love you  
> Forever, ever, ever  
> Guess I'm the one who, guess I'm the one who loves you  
> Always  
> (Always, forever love you)  
> And forever I love you
> 
> White stag: a top trophy for deer hunters, an entirely white stag is an impossibly rare sighting.
> 
> Nicéens existed! I've seen them, designated "Nicéen" by their photograph. But it might be an older name, they are unGoogleable as cakes for some reason. In the Sixties, at least, that was the name of a petit four cake coated in pale purple fondant colored with ground candied violet petals with the bright little dot of cherry red at the center. A more elegant, grown up sort of cake, reminiscent of the sugar bun garnished with a candied violet as an object of desire for "Currant Bun" Ross and Dem. 
> 
> "This is all I ask of God. Let me hold it!": The original text of Ross Poldark in its Ward Lock edition has this line with an exclamation point rather than the staid, "Let me hold it." Later editions were cut dramatically and make Ross, (and Elizabeth) more opaque in their personalities and motivations. I don't use a lot of Ward Lock quotes in this series just because that version is so obscure, some are sprinkled in occasionally. That always struck me as a bad deletion. Ross had so much more feeling in him as he walked home with Demelza skipping at his side singing "I Saw Three Ships" from Christmas at Trenwith and it wouldn't have harmed his character to show it.
> 
> We stop here to complete the wedding night. Still writing to meet the gap, back soon...


	52. Speeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the blue

Breakfast was under way at Trenwith. Verity sat near her father, as Francis entered room. A servant came, in a beat behind Francis at a discreet distance, with the day's letters on a tray. Charles, happy to have smoked salmon with his eggs today, impatient to tuck in, nodded distractedly, then his eye fell on the onion skin airmail envelope with it's frosted, pale, frail, utilitarian beauty. It was not marked in the red and blue border he was familiar with. A horizontal red stripe and a green stripe were printed across the front. "Oh! There's post from..." he lifted it up. "Italy!" At this, Francis and Verity turned to look at the tray with curiosity. "Who could be writing from Italy?" asked Francis. Charles looked at the envelope. "Lord Falmouth... The brother... No... The brother in law to Lady Armitage at Tregothan, Boscawen that was...." He squinted at the envelope. The gummed flap seemed flush with the paper, impossible to get the point of the letter opener into it. "I'm all thumbs with these things! Open it, Verity, before I destroy the blasted thing," said Charles, handing it to Verity. She picked up the letter opener, a silver handled blade, and deftly slit the top, keeping hold of the bottom of it with more care for the feel of it was a bit slippy. She made short work of unfolding the letter, one sheet folded into three. Francis' eyebrows raised to see Verity gasp and put her hand to her mouth in surprise. She seemed to grow in her seat. She sat upright suddenly. She released her mouth. "It's from Ross!" Charles mouth fell open. He was dreaming of the day when Verity would relent her insistence that they wait to see if Ross would return so he could sell Joshua's beachfront property. He was honorable enough to the idea of family obligation to keep Nampara house, but the amount money the cove would have fetched would have been tremendous. Francis read his father's thoughts. That his immediate thought was the loss of the expensive land rather than happiness that Ross was still alive made Francis titch a grunt of annoyance, roll his eyes. He loved Father but Charles was an acquisitive sort of person. To covet Ross' and, by extension, Verity's legacy by right of Uncle Joshua's last will and testament, seemed greedy. The Trenwith side had the lion share of the Poldark family wealth anyway. "Stap me!" Charles looked wonder struck. He swallowed down his chagrin over Nampara Cove's potential revenue and turned to family matters. His nephew was still among them. With no word since he left at fifteen, Charles was left to wonder if he had gone to the blest above. You forever hear horror stories of these young kids on their own these days. "Ross! After all this time..." said Charles. "What does he say?" Francis and Charles watched Verity's eyes dart back and forth and widen as she shrieked in glee "He's married!" "What!" Both men were flabbergasted. Ross was the youngest of them. To have gotten to the altar before Francis and Verity seemed ridiculous. "He's staying with Lord Falmouth and his nephew, Hugh, in Italy and intends to come home! Oh my goodness! How wonderful! I knew Ross would return!" Verity's eyes shone from happiness. Ever since little Claude died, Verity had special affection for cousin Ross, he always seemed so vulnerable after he lost his mother and losing his brother too was desperately sad. It wasn't a surprise Ross went through such a rebellious strop in his young teens. Father often looked askance at his angry, grumpy nephew, always getting into trouble. Verity always cared for Ross. Even when he was becoming wayward she still saw Ross as the same cute, high strung kid who sang and was full of talk and fun. Ross was still that person, she thought. Somewhere in him was the open hearted boy he was before he lost his family. With his mother and brother gone, Uncle Joshua so inattentive, Verity could see why he was so angry and rebellious. At the point Ross started courting trouble in the company of the Vigus boys Verity also kept her distance from him. She was shocked to hear Ross fled the trial and left home. She always hoped he was safe, always hoped Ross would return. Charles and Francis exchanged a look. Had Ross found some saucy piece of a foreign girl to warm his nights? The idea that a boy, for he was surely still a boy, not yet nineteen, would marry in seriousness beggared belief. Verity continued. "He asks that we keep a crate of his possessions at Trenwith to be shipped to England from Italy and he means to collect them when he brings his wife to Nampara!" Francis sat back in his seat. Ross alive, wed and ready to stop his vagabond ways, take back his home. "He knows about Uncle Joshua?!" said Francis. Verity's eyes went over the letter again. "Yes. And his belongings will have been shipped already, though I should think it will be a awhile before it is delivered..." "Of all the... Bad pennies return... Who'd have thunk it?" began Charles. "Did he mention the Paynters? Does he tell what he wants done about the household?" Verity shook her head, still struck by the happiness of her cousin's return to Cornwall. "No. He makes no requests for the property, just that he is sending his things ahead and that we keep his belongings here until he arrives..." she looked up, smiling, "...With his wife! Oh, my goodness! I shall make a start today! This very day!" She handed the letter back to her father and began eating her breakfast, now bubbling with plans. "I shall air the house! Open the windows to freshen it up!" Francis grinned. "I'll help! We shall look the place over and see if any repairs are necessary... Married! That little... Ross is a married man! I wonder what's she's like..." Charles set the letter down by his plate, thinking. Joshua was a rogue in the county, scandal after scandal. His brother had no truck with society niceties. "How would young Ross be acquainted with Lord Falmouth of all people?" said Charles, more to himself than to his children. Francis was just as surprised. They had been to events where Lady Armitage was present, now and then. Had their mother lived they might have had cause to socialize with her but they had no true acquaintance with either branch of the Falmouth or the Armitage families. He couldn't see how Ross could have come to know them and certainly not intimately enough to be a guest at an Italian great house. "Damned if I know!" said Charles. "I suppose we shall be on the lookout for this crate. I can't imagine he has a great deal... Went off with little more than his guitar and a sack of clothes... I'll be damned... Married..." Charles rang for more tea. All the commotion over this news made the pot go quite cold.

"We should have come by long before now..." Francis looked out of the windshield in consternation, stepped out of the car and walked round to open the door for Verity. The state of Nampara's grounds was unkempt. The field beyond the house was overgrown to the point that the tall grasses had fallen over and started to rot in some areas. The house looked sound but the gutters on the far left side were visibly choked with leaves or bird's nests. A mark down the stone wall were damp had taken hold from a year, at least, of impacted gutters was clear. "Oh, his poor house!" Verity walked forward, slowly. She had not changed her clothes. She wore a light grey dress and almond toed flat shoes that, in no way, was meant to survey the grounds of this nature. "The apple orchard is probably in a terrible state..." she said half to herself. Three years of Cornish weather had made its mark. There was much to do to bring the place into decent shape. "I wonder if father should ask the Paynters back anyway, if only to sort the place back into shape... I wouldn't know where to begin. Ross can't come home with his new wife with it looking like this!" said Verity as she looked about in dismay. Francis looked around too. They had let Ross' house go to seed. He was casually dressed as well. He looked at his feet in their soft leather shoes. "We need wellies, this can't begin without a good look see." They returned to Trenwith. Charles was surprised to hear they had returned. "Father!" said Francis with a note of disbelief. "Ross' property is in a rare mess! We haven't even seen the inside yet. You should bring the Paynters back, the house needs to be looked after properly even if Ross doesn't keep them on..." Verity added, "The grounds need seeing to as well. I have to think the apple trees are in need of attention. It's a mercy he wrote! I'd be mortified if he saw the place as it is now! The field by the house is so overgrown it's appalling! He'll think we don't care about him!" This did not sit well with any of them. Ross had gone. They did care, they did, but they had let inertia in his absence get the better of them. Whoever the girl was, she should not arrive and think that Ross' relations were uncaring. She was the newest Poldark, arriving to the home she was to be mistress of. They could not let Ross' homecoming be a disappointment from the state of the property as it was now. Blood counted for something. Charles frowned. "Quite right, quite right... Our groundsmen can make a start..." Charles thought a little more. "We'll need a proper arborist... I don't know anything about fruit trees..." He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair. Blood calls to blood... "Are you going back out? I shall come with you."

Charles, in his ordinary rubber boots, not his sturdier hunting ones, looked at the mash and ruin of the orchard floor. Rotting fruit, darting hornets, leaves turned to a moldering carpet of mulch and pests, the trees growing in all directions, needing attention. Charles knew every stick and stone of Trenwith's grounds. He was a stranger to Nampara. Even when his sister in law was alive they came to Trenwith to visit. The half remembered fact that there were apple trees here had not prepared him for the state of things. He had considered his brother a cross he had to bear. There was a wicked sense of relief that the embarrassment of Joshua's womanizing scandals had ended. "Out of sight out of mind..." Charles muttered under his breath. Francis and Verity stood at the mouth of the orchard, not daring to risk the wrath of the bees and hornets taking their pleasure in three years worth of smashed windfall apples and the ones on the trees in poor condition. The apples in health were already being maruaded by insects. Stunted, spotted and wrinkled, 'glass' apples, so mealy and sick they were vaguely transparent hung like dead prisoners from a gibbet. Charles was suddenly very depressed. He had let his nephew down. He had coveted his brother's cove and let the property itself go south. Francis heard his father sigh. A sharp scent from some portion of the orchard floor fermenting carried on the breeze. "It's easily put right, isn't it? Rake things up, hire someone who knows what they're doing to tidy the trees..." said Francis. Verity sighed. She had hoped for Ross' return without considering she had a stake in keeping Nampara tidy in his absence. Father hadn't suggested it but she was chagrined over not thinking of it herself. "I hope so... We don't know when this crate arrives let alone Ross and his wife..." She picked her way closer to Charles. Soft soil under foot. "We'll have to be speeding to get the grounds decent..." Verity sighed dejectedly. They looked at each other. Charles knew that he parented from a position of authority, always dictating... 'Does that make one a dictator?' he wondered. Verity ceeded what was her possession in this place to his oversight. He had eyes for nothing but the cove and its potential income to the family coffers, not even his daughter's personal wealth. He let her down too in that regard. "I beg your pardon, my dear. I should not have let this place fall to wrack and ruin. Whether your's or Ross'... This just won't do..." She took his hand. Father was a hard man to live with but easy to love. "We'll set things right..." said Verity with quiet feeling. Francis nodded. And Charles nodded.

At Trenwith, Charles sat at his desk, a restorative glass of brandy at his elbow, and set about considering how to order things in an expansive list. His groundsmen were to be dispatched the next day to start clearing the field, get the orchard floor and old outbuildings mucked out, weed the front garden and clean out the gutters. An examination of the outbuildings, to make sure they were in safe condition as well. A tree specialist to assess the apple trees. An exterminator was needed to deal with mice. The entire house needed going over by cleaning women. The chimneys needed cleaning. Repair to the interior wall where the rain water had soaked through from the outdoor gutters was necessary. Painters would not go amiss. The walls looked tired. Trenwith was a showplace of a residence. Nampara was a modest house. Hiring the necessary workers would start at once. Charles, so embarrassed to have neglected the place, did not begrudge the cost. The outlay in spending to bring his late brother's home to form was a pittance compared to keeping Trenwith in order. The rub was not so much money as organization. Much needed doing, in a short span of time and the tasks had to be completed thoroughly. Charles made a list of tasks he intended to put in motion at once. Nampara would be clean, cozy and tidy once he got through with it. Young Ross would return and bring his bride to a home they could be proud of. Verity seated in the winter parlor, a restorative cup of tea her elbow, made note of curtains that needed replacement, seeking to find similar looking material so Ross would feel at home, not jarred by too much change. Francis, enjoying a ginger beer as he wandered in, suggested a newer washing machine might not go amiss. Verity agreed. She was chary of doing too much interior decoration with the true lady of the house's eminent arrival. Still, airing the beds and purchasing new bed linen, white, plain serviceable sheets. Making sure lightbulbs worked in the lamps, the basic comforts of home secure upon their arrival, when ever that was. The Paynters might be agreeable to returning to look after the house hold effects and help monitor the handymen as the house was restored to better form. Ross had given no timetable of his return. It was up to them to bring Nampara into order after three years neglect. The Trenwith Poldarks got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speeding, The Creatures 1989
> 
> Speeding my way with no time to spare  
> Stealing away from that old nightmare  
> Speeding, speeding, I am stealing
> 
> Against the grain, unrestrained  
> I've invented a different game when I'm dealing  
> Dealing, now I'm dealing
> 
> Something out there is calling me  
> Beckoning me with urgency  
> Speeding, speeding, I am leaving
> 
> Oh saints alive, bless my soul  
> Driverless, now I'm in control  
> Speeding, speeding, time is needing
> 
> Bad pennies return from whence they came  
> I'll be back like a boomerang  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom
> 
> Speeding away with no time to spare  
> Speeding away from the same nightmare  
> Freedom, freedom, I seek freedom
> 
> The trail ahead is dark and unsound  
> But I'm lapping it up like a greedy hound  
> Free at last of the city sounds  
> Free at last to put my foot right down
> 
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom
> 
> Shut your eyes, let's hold hands  
> Overtaking on the tightest bends  
> Throw the dice, toss a penny in the air  
> Heads or tails, the devil may care
> 
> Speeding, speeding, time is needing  
> Bad pennies return from whence they came  
> It all comes back like a boomerang
> 
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom  
> Boom, boom, boom, boom
> 
> Speeding, I am speeding  
> Speeding, I am speeding  
> I am speeding, I am speeding  
> I am speeding, I am speeding  
> I am speeding, I am speeding  
> I am, I am speeding, I am speeding


	53. The Downtown Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vista

Ross watched carefully as the veterinarian examined Desdemona. Hugh leaned against the wall of the stables, Ross stood near the cow and Desdemona bore her examination with good grace. After a small exchange of comment, Hugh translated the doctor's pronouncement. "She can travel sooner than he thought since their are not other cows here. She has effectively quarantined already." Ross smiled and patted her side. "You hear that, Desdemona? You've got a clean bill of health, my girl!" Hugh smiled to see Ross talk to his cow as if she might understand him. Desdemona mooed as if she had understood and felt pride over the matter. Mr. and Mrs. Poldark had a modest amount of belongings to their name. Four of these possessions were a delicate enterprise to ship internationally. Seamus, Desdemona, Tabitha Bethia and Garrick were Italian residents, so to speak, and moving them to Cornwall was a large undertaking with many rules and not a small expense. Fortunately for the Poldarks, Lord Falmouth was agreeable to facilitating the travel and safe transit for the Poldarks' four legged friends. The affection he'd witnessed between Ross, Dem and their horse, cow, cat and dog as they lived as guests in his villa, charmed him. He considered it only right that the Poldarks' animals make the journey to England. As he remarked to his nephew Hugh, privately, had they been left behind and the Poldarks went to England without them, all four animals might well pine themselves into actual illness for want of their owners. Hugh smiled a private enjoyment in watching his uncle become as enthralled with the Poldarks as he and the Enyses had become. Uncle had suggested selling the animals before he had gotten to know the couple better. In the same rapid way they had all become loyal and loving friends, Uncle had too.

Ross and Dem watched with concern as both Tabitha Bethia and Garrick were given various vaccinations and breathed a sigh of relief that Seamus was deemed fit to travel. Ross wrote to his uncle and asked that a crate of their belongings be kept for them at Trenwith. The situation over transporting the animals made it impossible to give a suggestion of when he and Dem would arrive in Cornwall. Having Lord Falmouth's input and generosity as these plans were put forth made the complex undertaking easier. Demelza chuckled to see the many rules, regulations and organization involved. So often she and Ross moved from place to place with less forethought.

The room in Madame Albaret's building, where Ross and Dem stayed, faced towards an alley and had little in the way of a view. When they wanted a view the roof provided both privacy and a brilliant view of Paris, glowing in the sunset or glittering its lights to the night sky. They clambered up through a trap door Ross found when he was cleaning out an area of storage for Madame Albaret. Dem went up first with Ross close behind. The air was chilly this night. They bore the cold well for Ross had his arm around his wife as they sat, on the roof, and their combined warmth was cozy. Two sweethearts, recently wed, sitting up on a rooftop with all of the blazing lights of the city in a clear, wondrous vista under a full moon as bright as a newly minted coin. "This is how I shall remember Paris best," sighed Dem. "All lit up and pretty!" She lay her head on Ross' shoulder and he gave her a peck of a kiss on top of her head. Ross smiled. "Me too. You feel like you own the whole place up here..." She smiled. It was true. They had a stake in this illuminated landscape. At this vantage point one was its master. The expanse and grandeur of the city was your's for the taking. They knew each layer, level and altitude of this place. The ground beneath, the cobbles of the alleyways, the squares and plazas, the bridges and thoroughfares. The cafes and bookstores, book stalls, the hum and vigor of ideas and culture. The high culture of the intelligentsia, the students and artists who flirted with the street life that was Ross and Dem's universe in the cafes and the passionate dance culture of the night. The working class dance halls were the diaspora of African Parisians enjoyed their nightlife and taught the street rats by example how to dance with every bit of your body and soul, hour after hour until the sun's first gilded edge arrived in a new day. Ross and Demelza thrived in that world, to some degree. They became three years older. They tested their mettle in the streets of Paris and the city gave as good as it got. Ross and Dem learned the streets, their subtle ways and secrets. They had survived. On the street they were rats. Up here they were royal. Up on the roof they were a god and a goddess. All that was sparkling and beautiful in this ancient city washing over them like a poem and whispering triumph to their hearts. Paris had been theirs and once that happens this city's kiss remains on your brow. Paris never abandons its children. It raises them up and lets them go forth in a vanity of ownership. Paris had claimed them and that magic would never leave them. Even as they left. Here, up on the roof, the romance of Paris lay all before them in a glimmering landscape in a nighttime beauty that took one's breath away. In the day, on the ground, the less attractive realities came back into view. Ross and Dem also knew the dark corners of Paris and their filth. They knew the hard graft of busking and carting at Les Halles, scraping for the money to keep them fed and indoors for the cold weather. They knew the grown ups who threatened them, sinister and dangerous. They watched the slip into vice many of their friends had taken to survive. They made more money than Ross and Dem but the toll on them was severe. They did not want to be the last rats standing, eeking out what money they could busking and performing what few under the table paying jobs two young immigrants with no grasp of the language were allowed among friends that were selling sex, selling drugs, doing dirty work for the crime underworld. Kids were getting addicted to drugs, drinking too much, falling deeper into trouble. The harder edges of the street were starting to back them all into a corner. Life was harder and the stakes higher. Ross was determined to quit the street. He would find a home to share with his wife. He would bring their grand experiment in Parisian freedom to an end. All that was brilliant and romantic and wonderful about the city could not keep its darker self at bay. They owned that darker Paris too and Ross wanted to leave it before its talons began to grip upon him and Demelza and refuse to release. They were too old to be rats now. Being eighteen brought the weight of the law on you. Ross could have been charged as an adult for breaking into the carousel. It was only the discretion of the policeman that spared him. A different night, a different policeman, a random act of chance could have brought disaster to them. Ross was determined to find a quiet place to live simply and be a good husband to his wife. They had a small amount of funds set aside for a rainy day, but not the sort of money one would need to travel anywhere. It was a problem. They were more at risk stowing away because Ross was eighteen. Getting caught was always going to risk getting in proper trouble with the police now. "We could get out of France like when we got expelled but I don't know where we should go..." said Ross. Dem heard consternation in his voice and hugged him a little tighter. "We have time to think about it. It will warm up by April..." Ross nodded. "I want some place quiet. I want to live in the country..." Ross looked at the city in all its glory. His love for this place remained in his heart but he longed for a change. It was time for a change. He wished for simplicity. "Back to the land, Dem," sighed Ross. "Find a quiet place in the country, we could plant a garden..." He felt Dem's smile widen against his cheek and it made him smile too. "Oh, a proper garden! And we would always have enough to eat for we would grow it ourselves..." said Dem, happy to think of a garden all their own. Ross thought of Dem in her own garden, tending her plants and singing to a pretty sky above. "We could have some chickens too!" said Ross. "If we had chickens to lay eggs and a garden we should want for nothing!" They enjoyed this idea. A quiet life making things grow and not having to worry where their meals would come from. Work and love and be together. "And we won't need too much," thought Dem, sagely. "Pencils..." she said. "Sketchbooks aren't too dear... Some pots and pans..." mused Ross. "We should have a cat, like Mimi," said Dem. "We wouldn't have to worry about mice if we had a cat..." Ross smiled, remembering Brose's cat. Sometimes she would leave a dead mouse by the mattress they slept on. She seemed to leave it as a choice, gourmet morsel for them, that they should have first refusal of. She seemed to believe Brose when he called Ross and Dem "petit chats". Mimi's care for them was very maternal. Ross knit his brows. "We should get a dog though. There could be foxes about and then we wouldn't have any eggs for the chickens might get et!" Dem turned to look at Ross, smiling in confusion. "'Et'?" Ross gave a giggle. "Eaten. Sometimes Jud Paynter would say 'et' when he meant 'eaten'. He doesn't have his grammar but I like the way he and Prudie talk. It's very expressive..." Dem grinned. "You always smile wider when you talk of the Paynters!" Ross ducked his chin, grinning, a bit bashful. "You will like them, Dem!" He turned to look at her as he continued. "We'll spend some time on our own and then I'll bring you to meet them and Papa!" He looked out at the lights of Paris, arm around his Sweetness, and thought happily of his triumphant return to Nampara. A man of the world with his wife on his arm, full of slightly edited tales from his rambles and able to draw. Papa and the Paynters would be proud of him and love Dem as much as he did...

Ross grew quiet and Dem squeezed his hand. Not being able to bring her to meet Ross' father was a disappointment to him. They all gave him a bolstering look of sympathy. Ross blinked his thanks. That's the sort of friendship they had achieved this summer. There did not have to be words. The feelings of care, of sympathy, of love swirled around each other and coalesced around Ross in an energy that was palpable, Ross felt their concern and their support of him in his recent grief. His eyes conveyed his thanks as if he spoke aloud. They felt that too. Caroline, Dwight, Hugh, Lord Falmouth, Ross and Dem were firm friends. Over dinner, Ross and Dem's reminiscing made them all feel that hum and magic of Paris at night. They felt the youthful exuberance of two young people dreaming of a future together. Now they would sit in the Falmouth library where port and chocolates, biscuits and nuts would fuel more talk in comfortable sofas and rapt attention. The Poldarks were a fount of fascinating stories. Caroline, never one to quash her enthusiasm in her whims, plopped down on one of the sofas. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet beneath her, bobbing about to get comfortable and held a throw pillow in her arms at her lap, like a young child bringing a rag dolly to hear a story before bedtime. She looked among them all, beaming a smile to them all. She had not been deputized but she spoke for all the grown ups, to some degree. "I want to hear how you two arrived in Italy but the story I want to hear first is of your rings!" The gentlemen grinned their agreement in this. The rings Ross and Dem wore around their necks had been subject to the burning curiosity of them all. Dwight was left to wonder if they had stolen money in their street adventures. Hugh thought that unlikely but the jewellery _was_ far more than two homeless buskers could afford for themselves. Lord Falmouth could see that the rings as well as the chains were fine jewelry and Caroline recognized them as Cartier at least if not Van Cleef & Arpels. They were a mystery. The chains glittered at their collarbones, in candlelight, in the sun. A teasing hint of mystery at their necks. When they went swimming Ross had his shirt off and they could see the elusive necklace charms for what they were. They each had a star tattooed on their ring fingers, proof that they belonged to each other, a trophy from their last arrest. The Poldarks had been tattooed in jail, they said. Their proper rings hung around their necks. Where on earth had they come from? At dinner they had made it plain that they were living hand to mouth, carting crates of vegetables back and forth in a food hall and playing music on the streets of Paris. Leave it to Caroline not to beat around the bush. Ross smiled to the point that his eyes scrunched as Dem laughed merrily. She came to sit by Caroline and they smiled a collusion together, eyes bright and as ready to receive a good tale as tell one. Dwight was so ready he sat on the floor as Ross did. Ross smiled at Dwight sitting across from him. Ross lay his head by Dem's knees, one of his knees hitched up and closed his eyes in a blissful happiness as she scritched at his scalp with her fingertips as might have done to Garrick. "I have arrived," said Ross, tilting his chin up to look at his wife dreamily. "I have been raised to the same level of honor as Garrick!" They all laughed as Dem leaned forward and kissed his brow with a giggle. Hugh shook his head in a sort of amused disbelief. They were a magical pair, very charming. They were so happy about the coming child, so heartfelt in sadness over the loss of Ross' father and leaving the folly, so excited to go back to Cornwall, so able to be happy. They felt all of their emotions in such a pure way. Perhaps that was down to their vagabond ways, no time for artifice. Perhaps something in both their natures simply demanded it and the two of them together brought it shinning out of them as a pair. When they were sad one wanted to move the heavens and earth to make them feel better but one was barely ready to begin before the Poldarks themselves found their balance once more. Simply wonderful kids. With very grand wedding jewelry... "I should not wonder that there is an even more diverting tale to come, you two never seem to live by half measures!" laughed Hugh as he nodded his thanks to his uncle who was bestowing port to most all as a cup of camomile tea was brought to Dem by a servant. She still was in need of a settled stomach after dinner. "Our rings and Italy are part of the same tale," said Ross. Dem smiled mischief at their friends. "And it's a true story! It doesn't sound it at all but it is!" She chose a biscuit she had come to like, a brittle little almond cookie that softened in the camomile tea and had a strange but delicious taste from apricot kernels. Hugh, Dwight, Lord Falmouth and Caroline watched intently as Dem savored her cookie without haste and Ross kept mum at her side with a sphinx like smile. If they didn't know better the grown ups might have accused the Poldarks of teasing them. She swallowed her biscuit, exchanged a sunny smile with her husband and said,

"And, as strange as it will sound, this really is what happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Downtown Lights, The Blue Nile 1989
> 
> Sometimes I walk away  
> When all I really wanna do  
> Is love and hold you right  
> There is just one thing I can say  
> Nobody loves you this way  
> It's alright  
> Can't you see?  
> The downtown lights  
> In love we're all the same  
> We're walking down an empty street  
> And with nobody, call your name  
> Empty streets, empty nights  
> The downtown lights  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know it's true?  
> Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, it's alright  
> Tonight and every night  
> Let's go walking down this empty street  
> Let's walk in the cool evening light  
> Wrong or right  
> Be at my side  
> The downtown lights  
> It will be alright  
> It will be alright  
> The downtown lights  
> Yeah, yeah  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know it's true?  
> It's alright  
> It's alright  
> The downtown lights  
> Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know you feel it?  
> How do I know it's true?  
> Yeah, yeah, the downtown lights  
> The neon's and the cigarettes  
> Rented rooms and rented cars  
> The crowded streets, the empty bars  
> Chimney tops and trumpets  
> The golden lights, the loving prayers  
> The colored shoes, the empty trains  
> I'm tired of crying on the stairs  
> The downtown lights  
> Yeah, yeah
> 
> She chose a biscuit she had come to like: Amaretti di Saronno


	54. Dali's Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surrealism

Madame Albaret had been a confidante of Marcel Proust, she had been his housekeeper and secretary. She became indispensable to the writer, he said to any one who would listen that without her he would cease to write. She had a strange double life because of it. She ran her building in an unassuming modesty. Her notoriety as Proust's "guardian angel" made her positively deified in literary and arts circles. Artists and writers often sought accommodations at Rue des Cannettes, one of the reasons Brose knew of it and had heard it was a well run establishment. Ross and Dem in their informal employment to Madame; cleaning and performing chores for her when they were living on the street to curry her favor and maintain a relationship that allowed them to rent a room in cold weather, could often be found sweeping hallways, scrubbing floors or tidying the kitchen. One day, as Ross swept the floor by the front desk, the door opened and a man of extravagant taste entered. Ross stopped sweeping and stood up straight in order to look at him properly. The figure he cut was so strange Ross was pleased to have hold of the broom to remain up right viewing the spectacle. He might have been seeing things. Firstly, the gentleman had a baby leopard on a leash like a dog. That was strange in itself but the man also had his mustache waxed so the ends stood up, an old fashioned opera cape with red satin lining flashing around him. He had a cane with a sinuously shaped brass handle, a crisp three piece suit and large eyes that seemed to widen more as Ross looked at him. Madame smiled. "Ah! I thought we lost you to the Americans!" Ross turned in surprise. She made no suggestion that this man's dress, manner or leopard was the least bit odd. "Ah, Madame Albaret! I have a heart like an artichoke! It was only a matter of time before I returned! I was passing and I felt I must show Babou the patron saint of French literature!" She laughed with a coquetry in her voice Ross had never heard from her before. The leopard walked forward and started chewing along the broom Ross was holding. It pressed the wood where the bristles were with its front paws and gnawed on it. Ross had never been this close to a wild animal, 'A jungle cat!' he thought as he stared at it and hoped the leopard would keep to the broom, not decide to make a snack of his foot. The man pulled at the leash without success and walked forward the pick his strange pet back up. "Ah! Forgive me young man! Babou is very adventurous..." said the man, in French. Ross looked at the little leopard, sitting content in the crook of the man's arm. He looked to Madame for guidance. Ross had met eccentrics of all stripes in his travels but no one quite like this. "Ross," smiled Madame Albaret, "May I introduce Monsieur Dali. Maestro," she said in a teasing voice. "Ross Poldark." Ross turned back to the man and extended his hand to shake his very near this baby leopard who watched their hands carefully, following the handshake with its eyes, causing Ross to worry it was making ready to eat one or both of their hands. "Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Dali..." said Ross. At close range the mustache looked so strange, the tips up and defying gravity, but very ordinary too. The hairs all swept up with wax and decipherable as sculpted, growing from his face like anybody else's. The leopard had gotten specks of the floor sweepings on its paws and rubbed some upon the man's jacket sleeve but he did not mind it for all that his clothes were fastidious and formal looking. 'Dali...', thought Ross, who suddenly realised this was the same man who painted a Crucifixion that had always intrigued him in one of Brose's books. Christ was floating in air, as if he was on the cross, but hovering over thick cubes instead. That such a serious painting was produced by such a whimsical man was interesting. Monsieur Dali looked at the young man holding the broom with interest. His felt he had seen such a face before but could not place it. The dark hair coiling loose, not curly, wavy hair and the inquisitive eyes, bright eyes for all they were brown, full of life. Madame spoke once more. "Monsieur Poldark and his wife assist me in the building from time to time." Dali's eyebrows raised. He was tall, slender, but he might have been a schoolboy to look at him. Following Ross' and Madame Albaret's lead, he spoke in English. "You are married?!" he asked. Ross nodded. Dali looked to Ross' left hand around the broom handle. Rather than a wedding ring there was a star tattooed on his finger. He grasped the broom handle to pull it and Ross' finger nearer, for closer inspection. Ross blinked in surprise but allowed this in a spirit of friendship. He was clearly a good friend to Madame. The star was a potent symbol. Dali considered them mystical and lucky. He looked at the boy again. 'It is bad luck to ignore auspicious signs...', thought Dali. "You have a star where a ring should be. Does your wife also bear the star?" Ross nodded. "We both have stars on our ring fingers..." At this Dem entered with the chamber maid who clapped her hands in delight at the leopard on the man's arm. "A circus! Has the circus returned? They don't usually come until spring!" She laughed as she spoke in French. Dali smiled. The girl was a dainty brunette with a pretty femininity in her heart shaped face. The red headed boy next to her... 'I've seen him too, somewhere...' Dali gestured to the brunette. "Is this your wife?" Ross smiled. "No, Jinny is our friend. Dem is my wife." Dali squinted. The red head, dressed in blue jeans and a man's shirt, looked masculine until one really looked. His eye fell to her ring finger and the same star shone there. Dem smiled. "Hello." She looked like a boy but had a strange, wonderful voice. Lyrical English like a bird singing, in a word as short as 'hello'. Dem smiled in wonder at this man. He certainly looked like the ringmaster of a circus and had a teeny leopard, all spotted and curled up on his arm. "Monsieur Dali," said Madame. "May I present Madame Poldark et Mademoiselle Martin" Monsieur Dali set the leopard back on the floor and it hugged his leg as he gave a gallant, sweeping bow, the edge of his cloak framing him in undulating crimson red. Both girls curtsied. The red headed girl so like a boy... The memory was tugging at his mind. The dark haired boy... The red head... "Mon Dieu! I have seen your likeness before. In Amsterdam! You are the Chocomel children!" Ross and Dem looked at each other in uncertainty. The phrase meant nothing to them. Dali was charmed. Here was a petite Cinderella, and two feral children with stars on their fingers. Wedded children bound with stars and the spitting image of an advertisement poster he'd seen hanging in nearly every Dutch grocery corner shop window. Two children smiling happily at each other over their clutched bowls of cocoa, a white, green eyed cat sitting between them like a proud parent. "Madame! You are a sorceress!" exclaimed Dali "I have crossed your threshold into a fairy tale! You must all come to lunch with me!" Madame Albaret clucked a reproach. "You know a captain never leaves their ship! I must remain here!" She smiled at her small staff. They were helpful and hard working. "You may have the afternoon off today..." she smiled indulgently. "Monsieur Dali, you may bring away your fairy tale companions. I shall not lunch but take my young friends in my stead." This was agreed to.

The Poldarks in their threadbare shirts, their well worn blue jeans, Jinny in her yellow cardigan and brown tights under a plain brown dress, bundled up in their coats, followed Monsieur Dali with his little jungle cat into a waiting Cadillac, a 1940s black and white vehicle with gleaming chrome accents so shiny it nearly hurt ones eyes to look at it. The leopard bounded into the front seat as Monsieur Dali held the door open for his guests. Ross, Dem and Jinny slid, one after the other into the overstuffed back seat of the car, looking to each other with anticipation and baffled delight. The scent of heavy perfumes in the car did not mask the smell of the leopard successfully. Dem whispered, "I wonder where we are going..." "Ah!" exclaimed Monsieur Dali. "We must go to Maxim's! We must have a fortifying lunch!" He looked at them in the rear view mirror. His reputation and international glamour was enough to dine at the rarified eatery but this lark would be given spice by a different flourish. These young people were not dressed in fine clothes. They should have a trinket to impress the well heeled, wealthy diners and the owner who would indulge his madcap with the humor of seeing fine jewels on these tattered children. "But first, Van Cleef and Arpels. Jinny gasped. Ross and Dem did not recognize the name. Jinny bounced in her seat from the excitement of being able to see the luxurious store. "Oh Monsieur! Are we really?" He smiled. "Yes, your Grace..." And the little chamber maid laughed to be so ennobled. "You must all have a jewel for Maxim's..." He repeated himself in English. Ross, Dem and Jinny looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Dem could see people on the pavement craning their necks to see the leopard at the window, the driver and whoever the movie stars who must have been in the back seat only to recoil in surprise at three kids dressed like paupers, in their ratty old coats, in the back of the marvelous car.

In the jewellery store, a grand, impossibly elegant shop full of young women draped in fur stoles and older women in fur coats being removed by attendants so they might shop in comfort. The Poldarks, scruffy hippies and Jinny, a modest, brown sparrow of a chamber maid were decidedly miscast in this wonderland of glittering glass cases overflowing with expensive jewels. That was the fun of it for their host. Monsieur Dali often enjoyed tweaking the noses of other wealthy people by bringing his brand of surrealism to their staid surroundings. He was indulged as the mad genius he was and comment of what drollery he'd gotten up to amused the high salons and wealthy enclaves of these shadowy ultra wealthy people who liked a lark as much as he did. Comte de Lautreamont suggested that surrealism was “As beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table.” Monsieur Dali thought young kids in their tatty clothes being allowed entry into the rarified world of the upper crust a juxtaposition worth pursuing for the sake of a living performance art. Jinny just about skipped alongside their sponsor as he walked, nose in the air, wielding a brass handled cane, his pet leopard (which was, in fact, an ocelot) on a leash and Ross and Dem resplendent in awed smiles, jeans and prison tattoos brought up the rear. The leopard was the least strange member of this configuration. The kids, the Maestro with his slender handlebar mustache, taut, pointed ends pitched upwards like an antenna to divine the call of aliens in outer space, so up swept and stiffened with wax. The billowing cape like a heraldic pennant announcing two bright eyed hippies and a chamber maid to the elegant establishment. The staff readied themselves. Monsieur Dali was often a big spender in his whims.

They were whisked into a private salon. Jinny was given a mirror on a stand, set on the table in front of her. Dali sat nearby, watching the girl and her friends chatter in happy decision as tray upon tray of lavish jewelry was brought for Jinny's inspection. He watched the married couple, eyes wide, agog at the rubies the size of gum balls and sapphires that rivaled pennies. Diamonds that hurt the eye to look at too long, so much light reflecting back from the facets. They laughed and played with the jewels like toys. Ross held Jinny's hair up to let the attendant clasp the different necklaces on her. Dem and Jinny grasped each other's hands in the excitement of looking at these impossible jewels around her neck. All three were sweet to watch. They had a casualness in their interactions that was very innocent. The boy, a gallant, who helped magic their joy by helping with the maid's hair, as a brother might. The red head and the brunette giggling their happiness. All three chattered to each other and Jinny's reflection in the mirror, talking excitedly about how stunning and beautiful each piece was and how their friend looked wonderful in each one. Even the shop assistants were charmed by this eccentric dressing up. Ross grinned to see the girls so excited to watch Jinny get decked out in such extravagant necklaces. The sort old ladies wore to go out to the opera. Dali looked between them all. It dawned on him that they thought it was just dress up, playing with the expensive jewelry like toys in a box. Dali smiled. Bright eyes, flashing jewels, laughing, awe filled, talk and happy smiles. It was like watching kittens play in a basket. They were not choosing. "You must pick one, mademoiselle! I shall buy it for you." All three kids turned to him in shocked incomprehension. "But Monsieur!" said Jinny, in French, flabbergasted. "These necklaces are far too fine for the likes of me! I would be afraid to keep it! Footpads would clonk me on the head and run off with it! I should never sleep soundly again!" Ross and Dem were also shocked that he could suggest such a thing. They knew people walked about Paris who would stab you over a gold chain let alone proper jewels like these. The gems were so large it beggared belief they could be real! Dali could see that his guests could only take surrealism so far for themselves. The realities of their life kept them from embracing absurdity as reality. A compromise. "You find these not to your taste? Too, too?" he asked Jinny in French. She nodded. "I thank you for letting me wear them! It is like a dream! But I am just a chamber maid... I could not keep such a necklace and feel safe... I couldn't wear it anywhere and it is too much temptation for thieves!" Ross and Dem could sense that Jinny was explaining why she could not accept such extravagant jewels. They felt the same. These gorgeous gemstones in their elegant over the top designs were for rich people in their rich worlds, not for them. Dali smiled. "Do pick one. I should like you to wear it to lunch. But we shall find jewelry that is more to your taste as well. You all must leave this establishment with some sort of token, however modest." As he repeated this in English for the Poldark's benefit, Ross' mouth fell open. He did not wait to ask Dem's opinion, so eager to see his wife secured with the one token he could not manage himself. "Monsieur Dali!" They all turned to look at Ross, eyes shinning with hope. "May we have rings...? Please?!" asked Ross. Dem gasped with a happy smile, covered her mouth in shock that they might have proper wedding rings. Dali's smile curved upwards, much like his mustache. He found that reality had its nicities too. The girl covered her mouth and the staid store assistants blinked back surprise to see a star tattooed on one of her fingers. That was a sort of surrealism, the stars on their hands. These young people valued a plain band of gold more highly than any configuration of lavish jewels. They had already marked their union upon their very skin. That's a love to last a lifetime... "Your wish is my command." said Monsieur Dali looking over the handle of his cane that could be seen as a sort of camel but was actually a rendering of his mustache. He smiled over his cane and in that shinning moment, when Ross, Dem and Jinny looked so happy from the joy of the couple getting to have their heart's delight, a shop assistant entered with a silver tea set on a tray, a highly decorated pot of fragrant tea, a small footed bowl of sugar cubes with delicate silver tongs laid across its top, a pitcher of milk, cups and an array of thin lemon slices, fresh and bright yellow, translucent enough to see the rind of one through the flesh of another, laying in a line on a small oval dish upon a white doily. A second man bore a silver tray with a raw cow heart, also upon a white lace doily, procured from a nearby butcher, for Monsieur Dali's ocelot.

Hugh sat frozen in a paroxysm of astonishment. Dwight and Caroline were just as shocked. The world famous Surrealist, Salvador Dali, plucked them out of their rooming house, bought them wedding rings in a private consultation at Van Cleef and Arpels and took them to have a meal at Maxim's, the long storied restaurant catering to the whims of the most wealthy and powerful in politics, in entertainment, and a rarified, international world of royalty and prestige. Lord Falmouth set down his glass of port and laughed like a drain. Envisioning a raw heart on a silver tray, brought in with with the rest of the tea service, that all were provided elegant refreshment, including the leopard, undid him. He leaned his elbow on the armrest, covered his eyes with his free hand and laughed and laughed. His mirth was so infectious they all laughed with him as he composed himself. Lord Falmouth wiped his eyes, smiled at them all and asked Ross, "So your Brose put you two in a cocoa advertisement and Salvador Dali recognized you from it?!" Ross smiled in the way they'd come to delight in seeing. His eyes were scrunched nearly shut. "He must have done!" laughed Ross. "And Mimi is in it too! Monsieur Dali said there was a white cat in the picture!" Ross' head lay by Dem's knee. The bruising from the fight with George Warleggan was fading. Dem's hand soft upon his head. The love between them gratifying to witness, so inspiring. Lord Falmouth, who considered purchasing a wide swath of Positano, hosting Ross and Dem at his home after losing the folly in their flight from Warleggan's persecution, legal assistance in the procurement of their passports and organising the transportation of the Poldark animals in their return to England reasonable and just in the aid of his nephew's friends smiled upon the pair. They looked darling. Hugh had insisted to him, before he came to know the pair himself, that all cynicism be rejected, that the Poldarks should not be seen as opportunists or manipulative thieves, looking to glean favors and trick people into giving them things. Hugh had proclaimed them "children from a fairy tale". Lord Falmouth had come to this conclusion as well. Ross and Dem brought grace to ones heart, friendship and a sense that there _can_ be good in this world. If expense occurred to help them the situation was not one sided. Their gentle authenticity, their generosity of spirit, was recompense. They gave ever more than mere money would buy. Their's was a larger fortune. The Poldarks, with their quiet ways, with their songs, with their art, in their shinning love for each other and the things in their life they held dear, provided hope. It was invigorating and they dispensed these blessings with effortless good will. The Poldarks were good hearted and loving. Who could fail to want to give them wedding bands if it was in their power to do so? And such an illustrious sponsor... Caroline, agog at the tale, shook her head in amused disbelief. "He took you to Maxim's as well?" Dem nodded. "We had a meal there and that was what helped us get to Italy." Again, the grown ups had cause to look curious. Ross and Dem were given their wedding rings as an extravagant gift from an eccentric artist. They bought passage to Italy, a horse, a cow, chickens, a modest amount of hand tools and household goods and supplies enough to add on to the side of the folly in their intention to stay the winter in it as a permanent home. No one in the town would rent to them as they had no bank account and it was clear that they would have no more funds once their windfall ran out. Was Dali that generous? Dem excused herself to go to the bathroom. It was not yet so late that the tale couldn't continue. "It is decreed by no higher a source than the Lord of the Fal," said Hugh's uncle in good humor. "When Dem returns we must hear of your meal at Maxim's! I have not dined there in an age!" They laughed some more as Ross nodded his assent and drinks were replenished in anticipation of the story picking back up once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dali's Car, Dali's Car 1984
> 
> Together arm in arm  
> In an avenue white and tall  
> Tower block buildings telling tales  
> This is ......  
> Time is waiting on the floor  
> A ...... from who  
> My friend is clawing at the dial  
> It tells us half past two  
> Tall doors opened up  
> I leave my friend no fear  
> The jacket man with piercing suit  
> Is looking for a tear  
> He ...... his words in monotonal hums  
> And draws a picture clear  
> Of Dali's car, his silent self  
> An eye pierces like a spear  
> Tell me man, like or not  
> My time is short and soon  
> I'll take your clock for Dali's car  
> Take you spinning in the room  
> Spinning in the room  
> Spinning in the room
> 
> "Céleste Albaret (née Gineste, 17 May 1891 – 25 April 1984) was a country girl who moved to Paris in 1913 when she married the taxi driver Odilon Albaret; she is best known for being the writer and essayist Marcel Proust's housekeeper and secretary. Lonely and bored in the capital, and at her husband's suggestion, Albaret began to run errands for Proust, who was her husband's most regular client. Before very long she became his secretary and housekeeper. During the final decade of Proust's life, when his health declined and he became progressively more withdrawn"(from Wikipedia)  
> Madame Albaret is a cipher in this story, not given a role of her own like Brose or Garance. Unlike Brose and Garance, she was the real person who ran the hotel on Rue des Cannettes where artist Vali Myers stayed before she went to Positano, Italy and came to live in an folly that was an abandoned hunting lodge. Her transcribed recollections of Proust were published in 1973 and very well regarded. She was named "Françoise" in Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu. Proust relied on her heavily and she nursed him as his health declined and he was still writing. Salvador Dali mentioned that his upturned mustache was aided by the same pomade Marcel Proust used. Dali met Vali Myers and Patti Smith in New York City, I don't know if he ever met Madame Albaret. Dali did walk an ocelot, named Babou, and in later years, an anteater on leashes as pets.
> 
> A heart like an artichoke: a leaf for everybody but a meal for no one, no loyalty
> 
> Ross is remembering the Dali painting, Crucifixion (Corpus Hypercubus), 1954
> 
> Footpad: mugger, bandit
> 
> Chocomel(Cécémel in Belgium): chocolate milk, "De Enige Echte"/"The One And Only" So delicious... In a later portion of the "All Tomorrow's Parties" story, Dem will also be playing her Vox and drinking Chocomel in a filmed advertisement for the brand that airs in the Netherlands, in the early 1980s, through her manager Hugh's contrivance and to Ross' late 60s, hippie, "don't sell out" irritation. Children and cats are a common subject in many of the antique advertising posters for cocoa brands in Europe. Brose's remembrance of his petit chats, so happy to have their first drink from a Parisian cocoa bowl in his studio, became an illustrated poster in that nostalgic style for the brand which was Nutricia but is now produced by Friesland Campina. I wish I had one printed, vintage style on an enamel tin sign in real life, it would be the cutest thing ever..
> 
> "Moonlife", the chapter in which Ross and Dem meet Brose, is also a song by "Dali's Car". That was the band's name as well as the name of this chapter's track on their album. The Poldarks' "fairy godfather", Ambrose van der Bezige, in his care, assistance and affection for his "little cats" continues to bring good fortune to the Poldarks after they parted in various ways. By giving Ross and Dem authentic, legal I.D.s their wedding can take place. By adding their likeness to an illustration assignment he has also, unknowingly, been the catalyst for their rings since the famous Surrealist, Salvador Dali is enchanted at recognizing the kids in the Dutch advertisement. Brose was not a rich man like Lord Falmouth or Salvador Dali but he gave them shelter, nourishment, provided them with new clothes, money to rent a room (insisting it was simply payment for being artist's models)and found them a safe place to live, at Rue des Cannettes, when he shut up his studio and left France to return to the Netherlands. He gave them the benefit of his knowledge, library of art and poetry books, translated text they could not read themselves, led discussions of artistic concepts in an exchange of conversation that helped them to defend their ideas and enrich their opinions and taught them to draw at a college level. He gave them his time and support, respect and friendship. It was not one sided. They let Brose have companionship and a brief, but no less important in that brevity, experience of being a friend and, to some degree, a dad. A chance meeting, on a dark and rainy night, that blossomed into a potent, practical magic...
> 
> Still writing...


	55. Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finders keepers

Maxim's was an art nouveau, jewel box of a restaurant. Light and color and sinuous curves surrounded its diners with elegance and opulence like a loving womb. Ross, Dem and Jinny had seen many cafes but this was their first introduction to fine dining. Jinny looked all about the v shaped neckline of her coat showing other patrons of the establishment a ruby pendant winking there. Their coats were taken but Dali retained his cape. This way..." said Dali stroking Babou's head. The ocelot, sated with a cow heart at Van Cleef and Arpels clutched Dali's arm sleepily. With a gentle pat to his pet's head and rejecting the idea that he should be told where to sit when the prime area in the room was vacant, Dali strode across the restaurant and sat beneath the mirror in the center of the banquets at the wall. Ross and Dem and Jinny followed with beautific smiles for they had a gold wedding band each, hanging around their necks on a fine gold chain and Monsieur Dali also bought Jinny a less ostentatious gold pendant, shaped like a heart. They gathered at a square table at the wall, lined with red, banquet seats from one side to the other and this the true center, the ultimate area to see and be seen. "Sit! Sit!" He commanded as he let Babou have a nap, next to him on the bright red banquet. Jinny sat next to Dali and dared to pet Babou like a cat. She giggled to feel it purr as it grew sleepier. Dali smiled. Her giggle was a tonic to the brassy laughter of the courtesan set here and upper class wives who covered their mouths in discreet humor. Ross stood by the chair adjacent to the banquet seats under a oval mirror, its carved wood frame smooth curves that flowed like water even as it was static. It had a dim lit lamp, shaped like a fleur de lis, glowing a golden light and flanked by two painted women in flowing dresses, dreaming over their glasses of wine. He looked around the room. It was under half filled with diners having lunch. They were older and the scent of perfumes, of cigarettes, of wealth, the scent of wealth was more discernable than that of food. Glossy, beautiful desserts stood on a sideboard resplendent with whipped cream and bright red cherries, chocolate and a towering croquembouche, a construction of cream puffs, stuck together with chocolate and obscured at its base by a hazy cloud of caramel strands as fine as candy floss. In the same way Ross stared entranced at the sweets, Dem watched the diners admiring him. Them. Looking at Ross and Jinny and her with interest. She could see Ross as they did, a bright eyed boy who's dark hair gleamed in the glow of so many miniature table lamps, tinted red from silk shades. He looked longingly at the cream puffs and then looked around the room. Young and beautiful. Ross looked around more and then turned to look at Dem. Monsieur Dali was involved with requesting water for his leopard. Jinny sat looking at the painted walls and colored glass, all the swirling decorations. Dem was looking at him. Her hair had a strange cast to it in the blushed, reddish light of the room. She might have been plucked from the murals on the wall, an Art Nouveau maiden by Klimt or Mucha. An extra glow hovered over her red hair and green eyes. An extra glint at her neck as the ring shone on its chain. His wife. Jinny looked at Ross and Dem, standing with the table between them and watching each other lovingly. Frozen in time and a sense of caring for each other. Feeling love and the happiness of having their wedding rings. 'Oh! To have true love!' she thought. 'So romantic!' Babou settled in his nap and water procured, Dali turned to scan the room. His intention was to juxtapose these young, modest people with the pampered luxury of the ordinary patrons but the kids themselves had out manoeuvred his plan. Dali realized he had created a living valentine. The married couple, yet to sit in their curiosity, looking about the room, were looking at each other in a trance that enraptured even the wait staff. Jinny, the little Cinderella with a ruby at her throat, staring between her friends in their ardor, an admiration as if they were seeing one another anew. The blushed red light of the room. The interior of red glowing light corrupted by Jinny's yellow cardigan and enhanced again by the ruby. The ambiance bringing a warm halo around these two lovers who both looked male at a glance, transformed into a love legend when one _really_ looked. The softened look of all who watched two young people see their spouse in a spirit of gratitude. For the rings. For their love. His antic had redoubled upon itself and escaped him. The tableau was not the sarcasm in their being elevated by jewellery in their modest state as he set out to do. He had introduced a powerful love in front of these jaded rich people and an innocence that leapt over mawkish sentimentality into the divine. Dali looked between the three kids. A nexus of friendship and love the diners admired and sought to remember or covet in the realization that this sort of emotion may have escaped them. This room _is_ romantic, isn't it? Had they married their true love? Was money enough when the boy that died at sea haunted your dreams or the girl your parents refused to consider accomplished enough to be a "proper" wife disappeared into someone else's wedded bliss. Was the cigar chewing business man enough? Was money and jewellery enough when you stared at the ceiling in boredom? Could that loving look exist for me...? Dali smiled. He had been enchanted by the stars on their fingers and his instincts had not failed him. It is bad luck to ignore auspicious signs. The stars on their hands were potent signs... "Sit..." said Dali, gently. Ross and Dem snapped out of their reverie and sat down. Jinny's ruby was bright upon the brown dress. Her smile was sweet. They admired each other and looked to their host. This place was so beyond their experience they looked to him for guidance. Knowing Dali to be an extravagant customer, the house wasted no time in providing the Maestro his favored drink as well as champagne for his guests. Jinny, Dem and Ross went into the spirit of the afternoon with a good natured sense of adventure. They toasted with champagne in the daytime. It felt very swank. Monsieur Dali toasted with them but preferred to have his aperitif flambé, so a absinthe cocktail in a wide, stemmed glass was brought to the table. A bluish flame hovered over the surface. It shone like a beacon. Jinny and the Poldarks gasped aloud. They stared at the drink in fascination as the rest of the diners applauded this flourish and demanded drinks of their own to be set on fire. The dinning room hummed from then onward and Madame Albaret's little staff spent a wonderful afternoon eating the finest haute cuisine and chatting to Monsieur Dali like an old friend. For all his theatrical eccentricity and love of surrealist pranks, he was a generous listener. He learned about Jinny's close knit family, he learned about Brose and how to cart vegetable crates. He counseled Jinny to sell the ruby pendant through a dealer he knew to be reputable, he wrote out the name on the back of a Maxim's card, to provide a larger nest egg for herself or her parents as she chose. "Oh! Monsieur Dali! Merci!" said Jinny, awestruck. "It is my pleasure!" said Dali. "Money does not grow on trees, nor thin air... Or does it? What's that by your ear, Mademoiselle Martin?" Before she could speak he brought his hand to her ear and produced a gold coin. Ross and Dem looked amazed as did Jinny and they all laughed and applauded his conjuring trick. Ross looked impressed. "How did you do that, Monsieur!? Was it in your hand from the first?" Ross wanted to know the trick. It seemed such fun. Dali leaned forward to tell a secret. They all leaned in too, all grinning in the conspiracy and enchanted by their host. He placed the coin by the tight cluster of table lamps at the center. It was very old. Dem's eyebrows raised. Not only did he have a leopard as a pet, an American car straight out of the movies and a security in knowing he could indulge in whatever whim he woke up thinking each day, he had ancient money in his pocket as she might have a franc or a penny. "What is that coin? Where do they come from?" Ross stared too. It was a day of wonders and Monsieur Dali had delights stemming from every pore. He had a magical way of sharing his... His view of the world. A chamber maid could wear jewels like a princess, he could snap his fingers and give him and Dem their wedding rings, they could have tea with a leopard, drinks can be set on fire, they can see an old gold coin up close and there was no sense in him that any of it be abnormal. If life was real, it could be made surreal. If surrealism was real then that also became true life, real. It was heady stuff and they hadn't even had dessert yet! Dali smiled, heads huddled together in the warm lamp light. "I did not enter this room with this coin..." Jinny's eyes widened. She knew herself not to have antique gold coins in her hair or behind her ears. At this point she was prepared to believe Monsieur Dali was a true magician. Dem's eyes widened. What a strange riddle! She couldn't work it out. He was teasing, surely! Ross' eyes widened. Dali had the ability to paint like an old master, bestow gifts and wonders. Ross was prepared to believe he was bosom friends with Father Christmas, maybe even an elf of some sort himself. Dali looked them in the eye. Two youngsters who dreamed of moving on. Dreams were powerful but only money could buy you a living. Money was useful. The money stuck down the backs of the seats was willingly discarded by men from a different century. These kids will not waste it. Let them have something else to dream on... Their friend has the ruby to sell. Let them not leave this day empty handed. "Maxim's, from the first, has had the most refined clientele, the richest and most powerful people." He leaned in closer. They leaned in closer. Other diners watching too, intrigued by the close conversation that they could not hear. In a whisper he said. "In La Belle Époque, the wealthy and powerful had so much money it became a toy to them. They would throw it like confetti at a party," he smiled. "Here, the seats are filled with money." Dem knit her brows. "What?" Jinny bounced a little on the banquet. It felt like any other padded seat. Ross asked. "You say that coin was in the banquet?" Dali smiled. "With its fellows..." Jinny turned to see the leopard still sleeping. She put her hand down, behind the cushion where the seat and the back met. She gasped. Ross and Dem braced themselves against the table to see. She pulled out a gold coin older than the one Monsieur Dali had, placed it on the table and they stared at it. A gold ducat from 1815. "Monsieur," whispered Jinny. "These are gold?" He nodded. "Many are older than this restaurant itself. Playthings from another time. The benches around this room have more gold and jewels than Switzerland." They sat up. Looked at Dali, looked at each other. "But, wouldn't it belong to this restaurant?" asked Dem, deeply afraid that the answer was yes. They could leave the street with money like that. She and Ross could leave France. He smiled. "The money was freely given. I think there is enough that the wealth is easily shared." They all sat up straighter. Ross, Dem and Jinny pondered this as Babou woke up and Monsieur Dali demanded that coffee and the entire croquembouche tower be brought to their table for dessert. The waiters went to do his bidding. The kids sat in awe. "The wealth is easily shared" was not yes or no. The temptation of this grey area threatened to make them ill, from longing, from indecision. Jinny's family could have a larger house! Ross thought he might faint. Crazy Ace knew how to get hold of passports, for a price. A price the rats could not dream of meeting... Dem looked at Monsieur Dali. "It is old gold?" He nodded. Moved his cane to his other side, settled Babou on his lap. "Yes, it is easily changed to modern money through dealers. The franc is high at the moment. It's better changed to something like lira," Ross spoke quietly. "Lira? Italian money?" Dali nodded. "Have you been to Italy?" They shook their heads no. Two waiters brought the silver tray bearing the cream puff tower, to more indulgent applause from the other patrons to their table. Coffee was poured and Dali himself stood and dismantled the confection, piece by sticky piece. Plates of choux pastry, filled with custard, drowned in chocolate and ringed in an ethereal fluff of caramelized sugar were ferried from Dali's side and placed in front of the Poldarks and Jinny by the waiters. The ocelot left his master's side and lapped water up from a dish under the table. The waiters left. Dali smiled turning from the table where he served them cream puffs and looking once more to the bench. He had no qualms in providing a sweeter provision, over and above the other wonders of this day. "You might like Italy... " said Monsieur Dali as he sat, rummaged up a few more coins and lay them on the cloth covered table.

Silence. Total silence. Caroline asked, in a daze, "The banquet in Maxim's funded your travel to Italy? You went to Italy, at Salvador Dali's suggestion, because of the exchange rate?" Ross and Dem nodded with an archaic smile of mischief. "We had dessert and after that, Monsieur Dali took us to a dealer to exchange the coins for francs and lira. 'French money to go, Italian money to stay', he said." said Dem as Ross nodded. Lord Falmouth sat back in his seat, struck with wonder. Dwight started laughing. He had mused to Hugh over the Poldarks' rings and travel, wondering if they might have run afoul of the law and stolen money. Their tale was an extraordinary situation of an artist's eccentricity and "finders keepers". "You found antique gold from Belle Époque France down the back of the sofa!" chuckled Dwight. "If that isn't surrealism, I don't know what is!" Hugh bent double in his seat laughing and they all joined in. The strangeness of the Poldarks being able to happen upon good fortune, in this case literally, was a delight. It could not have happened to nicer folk. "Jinny bought her family a bigger house, two doors down from their old one!" Caroline shook her head. "Poor Madame Albaret! She sent her staff out to lunch and they scattered to the four winds!" Ross piped up, "Jinny didn't leave. She still kept her job at Rue des Cannettes..." This surprised the grown ups. "Did she?" asked Lord Falmouth. "Oh yes," explained Dem, smiling. "Jinny said she'd not leave Rue des Cannettes. If magic can happen once, why not see if it can happen twice!?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Money, Barrett Strong 1959
> 
> The best things in life are free, but you can give them to the birds and bees  
> I need money  
> That's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> That's what I want, that's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> Your love gives me such a thrill, but your love don't pay my bills  
> I need money  
> That's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> That's what I want, that's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> Money don't get everything, it's true, but what it don't get I can't use  
> I need money  
> That's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> That's what I want, that's what I want  
> (That's what I want. That's what I want)  
> Money, lots of money  
> (That's what I want, uh huh)  
> Whole lot of money  
> (That's what I want, uh huh)  
> Uh huh. Ah, ah, oh, yeah  
> (That's what I want, uh huh. That's what I want)  
> (That's what I want, uh huh. That's what I want)
> 
> Maxim's opened in 1893. When Maxim's was renovated in the 20th century and the benches at the walls removed to be replaced, the workmen really did find thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of gold coins, money and jewelry that had been lost by diners and their guests, decades and decades previous, down the backs of the banquets.
> 
> Belle Époque: 1871-1914, in this story the gold ducats Ross, Dem and Jinny are finding are older than the restaurant in the madcap, Daliesque habits of the patrons that time. They, literally, threw gold coins around to watch the young women there rush to pick them up. They would give a poor violet seller on the pavement, like, $200 for a posey of flowers rather than however many centemes it really cost just to watch her freak out. Throwing old gold around was a pastime they enjoyed.
> 
> Archaic smile: a 6th century device of Greek sculpture in which the subject has a smile, suggesting a sense of well being or peace with their existence


	56. Sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be Not Inhospitable to Strangers Lest They Be Angels in Disguise

The voyage was pleasant. The Poldarks had an interior state room. Being newlywed, the lack of a view did not concern them. A layer of unreality fell over them. They were in a confined space in which they were safe. From prying eyes. From the risk of being heard, no neighbor's pounding in annoyance, very thick walled and silent rooms on the ship. From the outside world. After years of always having to look over their shoulders, never able to relax their sense of watchfulness, Ross and Dem had total privacy to be each others. Clothing was optional and very often they did not dress at all. The bathtub was quite the right size for two and they often lay in the hot water drooped alongside the tub in happy, dreamy contentment. Ross might run a lazy toe down Dem's leg. Dem might smile mischief by running her toe along other parts of Ross' anatomy to excitable effect. It was surprisingly easy to consummate martial relations in a bathtub, if you had the inclination. They were adept at lovemaking in their short apprenticeship. Ross was very good at crying out from pleasure. Dem was a talent at sighing an account of the enjoyment she was experiencing. The multitude of ways to vocalize pleasure was an absorbing pastime and the Poldarks were able to express and bring forth all manner of examples. They made a fine study of each other. They took care to review the act of love from different vantage points. Very thorough. Very much so. The bed was soft. Their skin was soft. Their mouths were soft and wet and extremely versatile. A great deal of variety was to be had if one was open minded. The Poldarks were open minded. They were not opposed to missing meals in their zeal to enjoy each others charms. Day and night meant little to them. If they staggered out of their quarters in the afternoon, dinner was had. If they found themselves up before dawn approached they would share a deck chair and sit quietly together, watching the sun come up before breakfast. After the meal they eschewed the activities that the ship provided for leisure. The resumed the entertainments that interested them the most, for Ross had a beautiful smile and Dem had beautiful eyes and together they could evaluate each other's charms at their own pace and with exacting scrutiny.

It was only the most basic explanation. Caroline surmised the Ross and Dem's status as newlyweds made their memory of the voyage hazy. Hugh smirked behind his glass of port with a wink in her direction. Two young marrieds in a state room... The ship stopped at ports along the way so the journey took four days. That they had the right of the other passengers to dine in style but had no dress clothes was a humorous novelty to their fellow travellers. They came to breakfast, came to dinner barefoot in their well worn jeans and shirts. This was a charming entertainment for the other diners. Unbeknownst to the rest of the ship's passengers, the steward requested that they enter the dining room barefoot for their plimsolls were dirty and grungy enough to be distasteful looking. The Poldarks had no other shoes. They kept to themselves. They did not have many anecdotes about the ship. Lord Falmouth raised a sardonic eyebrow to Dwight who laughed a little under the guise of a cough. That they had little to say about the ship itself was not a surprise. Dwight and Hugh's uncle suspected the Poldarks had rarely left their quarters, so sunk into the charms of their spouse. Lord Falmouth, not looking for scandal but deeply curious asked. "You went through border control?" Ross nodded but looked at Demelza, sharing a nervous look. Lord Falmouth knew they must have been intending to overstay their visa, an illegality, but it was not that fact that intrigued him. "You had French identification but how did you get into Italy?" The newly issued passports Lord Falmouth acquired for them were the first ones ever issued to both of them. They could not travel on the identification they held but were allowed through. That could only happen with a passport. Dem looked at her lap, choosing her words carefully. "We came to Italy on a three month visa..." Caroline frowned in confusion. "How did you get in, though? Getting the visa might not have been a trouble with no passport to show but you entered a different country and they let you through...?" Ross and Dem shared a look. "Well..." said Ross.

"Oui!" crowed Crazy Ace, confident, bragging. "They will be accepted, no doubt! You will be waved in like any other!" But his face changed to a shrewd frown. He leaned in and whispered. Ross and Dem stood huddled near to listen to his dire warning. "But you only get one chance! If you cross any border on these again they might check Interpol!" Crazy Ace used his forefinger to pretend he was slitting his own throat. "Phit, yer dead! They won't stand two crossing! You must burn them after you get to Italy!" Ross and Dem nodded. "Thank you, Crazy Ace! We are in your debt, friend!" said Ross. Crazy Ace looked from one to the other. "Ah, Palmier, mes amies, I owe you more than such! You two got to the other side! I will die happy knowing two rats made it out!" They were too full of emotion to speak. Unlike the wedding, gathering the gang one last time before they left France was not to be. It was too risky. Many of them having hit the age of eighteen, like Ross, and cautious not to get in a dragnet again if they could help it. Too difficult. Even now Crazy Ace was bound for "work", and suffering under it too. Crazy Ace had tasted too much of his own supply and had the sort of habit he swore to any and all that would listen wouldn't ever ensnare him. Dem hugged Crazy Ace and he smiled over her shoulder at Ross mouthing, "You are a lucky bastard, man!" Ross grinned, nodded. "Au revoir, Palmier! You look after yourself, ma petit," whispered Crazy Ace. Dem nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Crazy Ace was shaking a little, beads of sweat at his temples, he had to go. They released each other and Crazy Ace gave one last salute as he ran around the corner. Out of their lives. The street rats of the Left Bank were playing with fire these days. When Crazy Ace mentioned he would 'die happy', he was entirely serious. Whether drugs or La Santé their friend was living at the edge of the pit and he knew it. They knew it too. They stared at the mouth of the alley. Ross walked forward to his wife's side. Lay his chin at her shoulder. They knew what they were each thinking, did not have to speak. They were kids, but their childhood had ended. The harder work of being older loomed. Ross tilted his chin to dovetail with hers. "There's only one thing left to do, Dem..." He stepped apart, tucked two "British passports" in his pocket and took her hand. They promised themselves a last visit to Shakespeare and Company. The bookstore kept them out of the rain and the cold, helped them feel close to their kinship with their absent friend, Brose, who nourished them with books as much as he had with food and cocoa. They spent countless hours there and now, at the final point of their Paris life they had, for once, money enough to buy books and would do so. A compilation of Rilke, secured by Dem immediately. Lawrence Ferlinghetti's "Coney Island of the Mind" snapped up by Ross. The copy at the bottom of the pile. He had thumbed through that copy often enough to consider it actually his. "Adventures In The Skin Trade and Other Stories", Dylan Thomas. A tiny, paperback book of Kandinsky, like a Beatrix Potter story except art overview, with little reproductions, in color! "Oh! How dear!" said Dem happily. Ross, ever amiable to being a gentleman towards his Sweetness added it to the pile. They had to stick to slim, small books. Books they could slide along the side of their clothes in the bag and not weigh them down too much. They brought their purchases to the register so puffed with pride one might have thought they were authors buying their own titles. Ross and Dem had never been shooed out of this place like other book stalls and shops. The owner and staff's tolerance for them, in all weathers, dressed in their tatters and clearly street rats who couldn't spend a franc, the wide array of books they had read in their browsing that helped them to learn, to dream, a college of the street, made them love the shop. They were given forbearance here and the chance to be proper customers was a joy. They bought their books, to the amusement of onlookers who thought them darling, stopped at a patisserie and bought a palmier, to share, and returned to Rue des Cannettes.

"How often did you actually _eat_ your namesake?" asked Caroline with the sort of amused, nonchalance she so often had in her voice. Ross smiled. He looked up at Dem and they shared a warm look of affection. He kissed her hand and she squeezed his back. The scandal of their illegal, counterfeit passports had been accepted without comment or censure by their friends. Hugh, his uncle, Dwight and Caroline had their curiosity sated and were content. The final sticky wicket Ross and Dem fretted over admitting had been been confessed and their grown up friends still liked them. That this should be an issue to the Poldarks, now, even after they explained their flight from Marseilles, showed how their life as street children had marked them. They would never, truly, rid themselves of fear of discovery or lose their guilt and fear over the dark side of their lives. They never found out if the policeman had lived. They never asked _how_ the passports had been obtained. (They cost the EARTH. Ross and Dem could not have dreamed to buy them without the largesse of Maxim's) They had been in prison. They had been rats. They both felt guilty over not knowing how their friends fared afterwards. They never pretended themselves different. They owned their life, did not stoop to deny that time. But some parts of their life were just too raw to bear. They owed their friends an explanation. Ross and Dem gave it to them, even when they were upset to recount it. These grown ups helped them immeasurably, with their time, their unflagging support and an untold fortune. Would Hugh have persuaded his uncle to wrest the valley away from George Warleggan anyway? For the sake of the fishing villages? Maybe. But George Warleggan's harassment of the Poldarks insured it. Lord Falmouth and Count Schön _bought a mountain_ , in part, for their sake. The Poldarks were grateful, told all; poked their heads out from beneath their reality and their friends still liked them by the end of the tale. Their friends deserved to know, no one else, though. They drew a veil over that time, over those more difficult situations. Demelza would not, ever, speak of the Home or her father's abuse. They spoke of Garance and the women of the growers compound with affection amongst themselves but never spoke of Marseilles otherwise. The faceless mauraders that menaced them in their flight from the shooting, in the abduction, on the street afterward, were never spoken off. If Ross woke suddenly in the night, gasping and terrified, if Dem disappeared behind her own eyes in a silent fugue; Dem could hold him and stroke his hair until the nightmare passed, Ross could hold Dem and feel the strain in her release, feel her return to the present day as she sank into him. They were each other's guardians and the keepers of their secrets. They were Palmier. Later, they would name their farm at Nampara for the sweet but, it was a funny thing, palmier were a simple curl of sugared puff pastry. There were so many other wondrous pastries to be had, so many flavors, so many tastes, Ross and Dem usually overlooked the modest palmier for more exciting fare. That they ate palmier before they left France was a simple sentimentality rather than them truly wanting one. 

"Not often." smiled Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sailing, Christopher Cross 1980
> 
> Well, it's not far down to paradise, at least it's not for me  
> And if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility  
> Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.  
> Believe me.
> 
> It's not far to never-never land, no reason to pretend  
> And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again  
> Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.  
> Believe me.
> 
> Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be  
> Just a dream and the wind to carry me  
> And soon I will be free
> 
> Fantasy, it gets the best of me  
> When I'm sailing  
> All caught up in the reverie, every word is a symphony  
> Won't you believe me?
> 
> Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be  
> Just a dream and the wind to carry me  
> And soon I will be free
> 
> Well it's not far back to sanity, at least it's not for me  
> And if the wind is right you can sail away and find serenity  
> Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.  
> Believe me.
> 
> Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be  
> Just a dream and the wind to carry me  
> And soon I will be free
> 
> Be Not Inhospitable to Strangers Lest They Be Angels in Disguise: the motto of the Parisian, English language bookstore, Shakespeare and Company
> 
> The artist, Vali Myers, shocked and amused fellow passengers on her ship voyage by being barefoot at dinner simply because she wanted to.
> 
> A palmier, also called an "elephant ear": Ross and Dem were nicknamed by the kids on the on the street as a duo. The shape of the pastry is two curled sides fused together. Unrelated, unintentional for "Palmier" simply means "palm tree", One of the ships in the fighting that sank book Dwight's ship, the Travail, was named Palmier. The other ship WG names in that conflict was Héros. The David Bowie song, "Heroes", is the umbrella title for extra stories about tweenaged "Currant Bun" Ross and Dem and their summer before Ross goes away to boarding school.


	57. Whistle While You Work(Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery

Ross and Dem asked from one side of the town to the other. No one had a room to rent. No one wanted two long hairs with a guitar and no prospects. Ross insisted they could meet the rent, but they were so tattered looking in their grubby canvas shoes and old jeans, so young looking, more than a little bohemian wildness showing from them, nobody wanted to take a chance on them. Most landladies thought they were wayward, foreign kids who should go home to their mothers. Landlords took one look at them and were convinced they would bring trouble. They had long hair and could be sort that take drugs. There were shocking articles telling all about the wicked youth culture, throughout Europe, in all the papers these days... These kids had no reason to have the amount of money they insisted they did with no jobs. They might be thieves looking to get rid of stolen cash. They were suspect. Ross was becoming irritated. They had money but people refused them out of hand. Dem was troubled. The town here was not like the other countries they had been in. They did not allow street musicians. Everything was on a smaller scale. One could not melt into the background like Paris or Austria. She could not work out a way to manage on the streets. With no one to rent to them, no way to busk and no street culture they both started to worry. They were wandering around with money no one would take and still homeless. Dejected, they talked over their problem in a tavern that sold heavenly food. Since money was no object they ate huge plates of pasta, rich with vegetables, bread to mop up all the sauce and a tart, lovely, fizzy lemonade that was clouded pale whitish/yellow from the fresh juice in it. It was difficult to maintain a bad mood with food this good and they perked up a little as they ate and discussed their predicament. "I don't think trying to get to Rome is a good idea," said Ross. "We should look in the hills, above the town. Maybe there's a cave we could live in." Dem nodded, wiping a path through the sauce on her plate with some bread as she spoke. "I don't want to be in a big city again. You spoke of a country life. Let's do that. If we find a place to stay dry we can get supplies once and a while..." As she popped the soused piece of bread into her mouth with a shiver of enjoyment at the deliciousness of it, Ross nodded, chewing vigorously so he could swallow and speak. "Yes! We don't need much more than that. We can live on the land! They say oranges and lemons grow all over the place here and maybe we could fish too!" Dem thought back to the livestock yard they saw when they arrived. "We can find a place, out of the way and build a chicken coop!" Ross smiled. "Back to the land, Dem..." They sighed. Well fed and ready for a quiet life. They were too reliant on city ways, thought Ross. He and Dem would make a new life for themselves and sink into nature for a spell. They could continue to work on getting proper shelter while they did so. Ross wanted to live with his wife in truth, have a home together before he went back to Papa. He wanted to prove himself and look after his wife. Dem liked the idea of being closer to nature and growing a garden. She wanted to look after Ross and enjoy being together. They would stop ducking and diving, thought Dem. No more arrests, no more worrying over where their next meal was coming from. A quiet life away from the wider world. With a garden and some hens, thought Dem, not being allowed to busk would not leave them hungry. They would always have food of their own.

They paid for the meal and, back on the street, looked in the distance. "We have daylight yet," said Dem, rearranging their bag of clothes on her shoulder. "Sleeping rough in a cave is easier than having the flic on our back around here..." Ross clutched his guitar case and nodded. "Right! Onward!" Two hippie kids wandered through the town, out of the town, along the road. They sought the cliffs they could see in the distance and, before long, the distance became the base of a cliff. They had a bottle of lemonade each, two apples, a loaf of bread and a small wedge of dry cheese. Ross looked around them and Dem watched her husband. He looked about with the same, animal like energy she saw in him when they first set foot in Marseilles. Alert, smelling the air as if he were a fox or a wolf. A primal strangeness in Ross that she hadn't come across in other people. Ross thought about things in a more complicated way than Dem did. Ross was very creative and clever in his thoughts. He was not _always_ clever. Sometimes he reasoned himself into bad situations. But Ross, at his core, was a canny sort of boy. If his feelings led him astray sometimes, he often found a solution out of it. If he made poor choices he often found a way the right the wrong. 'He has a good heart...' thought Dem, and she was glad he had chosen her for a friend, for a wife. She was grateful for his love because she had not many hopes to feel trust in someone before. Garance taught her to trust. Brose taught her to trust. Madame Albaret kept their money safe when many a landlady might have cheated them. Madame Albaret taught Dem trust. If there was one person that Dem could trust implicitly in her life she was glad for it to be Ross, the boy who asked her to leave the Home and became her husband. "I think we should start up this cliff and then stay put." said Ross. "Once it's dark I don't think we can come back down." Dem nodded. They had food and they had their belongings. They had no lamps or candles. They started up the cliff. Beauty wherever one looked. Birdsong and fresh air. Greenery everywhere. Dem clutched at Ross' arm, whispering, "Ross! Look!" They stopped to look past branches into a clearing to see an infant deer take its first shaky steps. It wobbled itself upright and buckled back down. It persevered. It teetered on its knees and tried again. It struggled nearly upright and buckled again, laying it's head down in the grass as the little deer fell over. "Oh..." sighed Ross. Ross and Dem watched, enrapt. They were silent but they rooted for the little foal as it tried again, hoped for his spindly legs to manage. When it finally stood and walked to its mother with strengthening steps, Dem clutched Ross' side and they smiled to watch them disappear into the trees with a warm sense of triumph. "Oh... What a brave little gruffler..." said Ross, admiringly. Dem laughed, lightly as they continued to walk. "Is that a Paynter word?" His smile denoted 'yes' before he spoke. "Yes. I suspect they'll still think I'm a gruffler even as I come home a married man!" he chuckled. Dem smiled. Ross had a much happier family life than she did. Maybe she would come to have a family in them too. Ross was always certain than his father and their servants would like her. The Paynters seemed less like servants and more like family to Ross as he spoke of them and smiled over remembering things they said. Dem hoped they would like her. They walked further up. Caves did exist in many places. There seemed to be many options for shelter. "Let's look for water. If we find water then we can look near by for a place to spend the night." said Ross. Dem agreed. The walked more and could hear rushing water in the distance, somewhere. They tried to leave the ways of the modern world behind. There were no signposts, no traffic lights. The navigation they relied upon in the cities would not do. They both tried to ease into an instinctive way of being. They listened for the sound of the river and tried to walk to to point of that sound. They saw the slim edge of it ahead and Dem rushed forward to see. Ross, holding his guitar case at his side followed more slowly. The river was alongside meadow on one side and cliff faces on the other. Boulders and huge sheafs of rock made for places to sit as well as a jagged path to walk along the cliff face side. "Ross! Look how beautiful it is!" They followed the river for a time and found another area that took their breath away. A pool of water, perhaps fed by the river, perhaps its own fount. It was in the center of cliffs trailing vines and greenery like streamers after a fair. Buds that promised festoons of trumpet flowers were tightly closed on the vines, awaiting the day when they would open to greet the sun. They were speechless. It was tremendously beautiful and would be more so when the flowers bloomed. Dem looked all around. "This is wonderful!" Ross nodded. "We should have our dinner here!" said Ross. "Let's find a place to stay the night and then we'll come back!" The Poldarks looked across the meadow. They saw it sloped upwards, a hill. Ross and Dem had been on their feet for some time but they did want to decide where to be in the dark of night. It was starting to occur to them that they couldn't risk trying to walk back down and would not have a light of their own once it grew dark. "Let's see what the top of the hill looks like." said Ross. They walked on. Dem looked ahead in surprise. "Ross! I think there is a house up there!" Ross squinted. "It looks like a church or something. Its got a dome on the roof." They walked up the hill. As they came near the building came more into focus. A white little house with a dome on the roof like a fairy tale. One side was open to the elements. There were stables near with two stalls and a loft for hay. A proper, concrete courtyard with a wide, round rim of colored tiles set in the middle of it, was in front of the little house. A whitewashed wall ran down the side of the area and the concrete floor ended at the wall's stopping point. Dem turned to Ross in shock. "Someone built this place and lived here...?" Ross nodded, looking all around them. It was abandoned, that was clear. It was lovely. Ross smiled. "Let's look inside. It's like a cave, with that open side. A luxury cave!" he chuckled. Cautious, for it might be some other person's pitch, someone might be in the place, they entered through the open side. "Ross! There's a stove!" Dem walked forward to look at a cast iron stove. Deep enough within the house to be spared by the elements it looked to be in good condition. They looked further in with a sigh. Built in wooden bookcases, well built cabinetry, lined the length of one wall. Two large wooden wardrobes with a deep width and double doors stood with a daybed in between. A princely looking chair with upholstery rotted away lay on the floor with a leg broken off. Leaves from the outside had blown in about the floor. The floor itself was concrete too. It extended past the opening like a porch. Ross turned round, looked all around. He smiled at Dem. "If we stay here tonight I think we should come to no harm." Dem turned round. It was just the right size for two. "If we stay here for longer I should think we'll come to no harm..." Ross put the guitar case down. He opened one of the wardrobes. they were identical and very tall, nearly to the ceiling. The door creaked as it opened. "Dem! There's an old record player in here!" She came alongside him. "Records too!" said Ross, incredulous. Dem saw a what she believed to be part of a crank to wind up the record player, sticking out over the shelf above it. She reached to pull it down. "Maybe this... Eeeeeeeeee!" Ross turned sharply as Dem screamed, shrill and frightened. It was a pistol. "Its O.K.! It's O.K.! You're O.K., Dem! Shhh... Shhh... You're O.K., Sweetness..." Dem set the gun down on a lower shelf, staring at it wide eyed as she burst into tears. She shook like a frightened rabbit and Ross held her tight, whispering encouragement to her, to calm her. They stood like that for some time. Dem cried against Ross' shoulder and he closed his eyes, felt her heart beating too fast against his body, protected her with his arms. He held a hand to her hair and cooed a steady stream of support, whispering and holding her firmly. "You're safe, Sweetness... Oh, my love... You're O.K., Dem, it's safe..." At length she stopped crying. Ross lay his head upon hers, gave her another firm squeeze. "You're alright?" He felt her nodding 'yes'. He let go and placed a hand on the daybed, to test it. Ross felt at once it was too far gone. "Ugh! The mattress is rotten..." He pulled and prodded the outer frame, knelt to look at it close. It was a sturdy wood frame with an intricate carving of flowering vines, around the outside, as decoration. Well built however old it was. No insect holes or parts chewed away by animals, firm at the corners with no wiggling loose pieces. "I think the frame is not in bad shape..." Dem sniffed back her tears and nodded, better now by degrees. He looked to Dem with sympathy. She had saved their lives by shooting a man with a gun in Marseilles. Coming across another one brought all those fears back. Ross wanted to let Dem lie down but the mattress was not fit for that. "Here," said Ross, "Let's bring out the mattress, maybe we can sweep some of the leaves out with it. They did this, used the mattress to wipe clean part of the floor and then put it outside, each of them thinking of other things they could do to bring more order to the place. Setting aside the shock of the pistol, the building seemed cozy and well built. The floor was discolored by rain water near the mouth of the opening but not in the interior. The roof was sound. "Dem? Would it upset you to stay here tonight?" She shook her head. "I would like that. I like this place..." She looked at the mouth of the opening. "If that was closed off it might be another room..." Ross stood next to her. "I think someone meant to. The floor finishes there..." He pointed at the edge, a bit under two meters further than where the walls stopped. Dem sat cross legged on the floor where they had pushed the debris clear. Ross looked in the other wardrobe. "Oh! There are dishes in here!" He lifted out a delicate china plate. "All sorts..." There were various patterns, three of this, four of that. No full sets of anything but all very grand and beautiful. "Look at this one, Dem! The border looks like owls made of flowers!" Ross brought it near to show her. She did not see it at first but the design of round and pointed leaves did look a bit like owl eyes and a beak. "Oh... How lovely!" said Dem. Ross set it back with the others and admired all the fine china on the shelf. "Plates, tea cups! There are some pots... Silverware!" Dem could hear things rattling as Ross looked among a wooden box full of cutlery. Ross came to sit by Dem. "I think, we might make a go of this place, Dem." They looked all round. "We could go back into town tomorrow. Get a broom! A bucket and mop too!" said Dem. "Yes!" agreed Ross, "We'll find a mattress too! The sort you can roll up, that shouldn't be too much trouble to bring back if we tie it tight..." Dem sat up a little more, excited. She thought some more "A bedspread!" said Dem. Ross looked at the darkening room. Candles..." he said with a sharp nod of his head.. "Matches!" laughed Dem. Ross laughed too. It would be a sorry thing to buy candles and have no way to light them. Between them they would not forget things that were useful. "We'll make a list!" said Dem. They returned to the river's edge. They washed their hands in the river. They ate on the grass, the bag of their things and guitar case near them. The clouds were pink at the top and serene dark purple fringed in a flame orange light, beneath the pink as the sun set. Ross lay on his back and looked up at the sky at the end of this day. Dem sat cross legged and looked up too. They stayed quiet, admiring the beauty of the area. Dem suggested they return to the little building before it got too dark and Ross agreed. Dem lifted the guitar case, Ross put the bag on his shoulder and they walked up the hill. "We'll need buckets," said Dem. "For washing and for water..." Ross nodded. "We can make that list in the morning..." They set their things down, looked all around once more. Dem smiled in what was left of the light. "I think it's lovely!" Ross walked forward and gave her a kiss. A brief peck on the mouth. "I think so too." he said. After taking advantage of the last light, going into the woods to relieve themselves, the Poldarks squinted to aim themselves at the place where they had pushed away the dirt with the old mattress. They sat there, watching the room grow darker. Ross sat up at the wall and held Dem in his arms. It went pitch black. Ross blinked into the dark. The top of Dem's head was under his chin. He smiled.

"Good night, Sweetness."

"Good night, Ross" whispered Dem in a soft, drowsy voice.

They slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whistle While You Work, Adriana Caselotti 1937
> 
> Just whistle while you work  
> And cheerfully together we can tidy up the place  
> So hum a merry tune  
> It won't take long when there's a song to help you set the pace  
> And as you sweep the room  
> Imagine that the broom  
> Is someone that you love and soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune  
> When hearts are high the time will fly so whistle while you work
> 
> flick: police
> 
> The border looks like owls made of flowers: The Old Hall Earthenware Co.'s dinnerware, designed by Christopher Dresser in 1886, was the inspiration for Alan Garner's 1967 book "The Owl Service".


	58. Whistle While You Work (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring cleaning

"Oh! Good morning!"

Dem woke, groggy and a little stiff, with Ross' arm around her. She blinked awake in the dim room to see a grey cat sitting on the daybed frame, staring at them. Ross and the cat were looking at each other and he had just bid her good morning. Dem wriggled herself upright and yawned. "Have we taken her pitch?" smiled Dem. Ross turned to give his wife a peck of a kiss on the forehead. "I believe so, maybe she will share her quarters with two rats..." They stood and the cat didn't move. It swiveled her head to watch them. Then she leapt to the floor and came closer. Ross knelt on one knee and let the cat rub against his shin. "Hello!" He greeted her again and risked petting her. One feral creature making friends with another. Dem watched them investigate each other. Ross' forelock draped forward, hair at his shoulder framed his face in profile. His smile... Dem looked between them. "She seems willing to share... She likes you, Ross." He stroked the cat's head and she purred. The cat had yellow eyes with the deep hue of her pupils making them that much more bright. "I like her too..." said Ross.

With stiff limbs but well rested, they went out and went in different directions to relieve themselves. The land was vast and yet it felt very tucked away and safe up here. The building was sound, a river was nearby. The trail was not difficult from the base of the cliff but it was not trafficked by others. Secluded. Room enough to wander off and not foul their immediate area with their toilet. That there was no plumbing, no power, no electricity, did not concern them. They both were entranced at the idea of embracing and older way of life. A quiet life tucked away amidst nature itself. They returned to the little house. "We'll start today!" said Ross, excited to begin at once. "We can go back into town and get supplies." Dem shared a happy smile with Ross. "Let's make our list!" said Dem. She went back in through the open side and rummaged in their bag to get a sketchbook. She ripped a bit of paper from it and felt around in the bag until she found a pencil. Ross was sitting at the edge of the fountain bed and she sat next to him, heads bent close in the early morning, deciding on the things they would need. They had to balance their needs with what they could carry. "I guess we could go back tomorrow too..." mused Dem. Ross nodded. "So we'll get what we can to clean things up and then get ordinary things day by day..." This was agreed upon. They put on their plimsolls and walked back down to the base of the cliff, all the while impressed by the beauty around them. The morning light glowed like gold, shimmered upon the trees and the cliff faces, so tall and imposing. Birds and squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits, deer Mamas tucked safe with their new babies. Ross and Dem saw animals, quick at their tasks, tending their young and allowing two city folk to live among them with a sense of tolerance. Ross took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the fresh morning air and sighed. A quiet place to live in peace with Dem. To hide from the outer world and love his wife. Wouldn't that be lovely?

They walked the side of the road like two tinkers looking for work. Ross had a thin, padded mattress rolled up and hanging at his back, carried a metal bucket filled with other bought items. It was particularly heavy from votive candles in thick glass holders. Ross felt a strain in his arm at the bucket's weight but pressed on. Dem also had a bucket full of scrub brushes and soap, rags and two printed tapestries that were thickly woven cloth and colorfully patterned, rolled up and stuffed at the top under the bucket handle. She carried a mop and Ross kept hold of a broom. They were eyed by the shopkeepers as if they really were disreputable, travelling tinkers. Their long hair and shabby clothes made the grown ups who looked after their shops suspicious of Ross and Dem. Young ruffians from afar in their midst. But Dem greeted each with a cheerful, "Good morning!" and Ross paid for all they chose with a cheerful, "Good day!" They were excited to begin getting the place in order and this good mood was impervious to the side eye looks of the townspeople. They carried their supplies up into the valley. A hint that they had embraced their new home in truth was the fact that they left their bag and the guitar case stuffed with their funds up in the house. They would not encumber themselves with them as they went for supplies and also had faith that this would be their home, safe from others. There was little sign that anyone else had been up for a long time. The concrete had been poured later than the structure and the fountain bed had been made but even that could have been decades ago. Ross, surreptitiously, examined the pistol that was left in the wardrobe, as Dem slept. He suspected it couldn't be any newer than the 1940s. It was a Beretta, too choked with rust to fire.

The sound of rustling leaves felt deafening when the wind picked up. In time they both would come to absorb the noise into was was. Gauge the swiftness of the wind by the volume of the leaves chattering but not mind it, day to day. They learned to sink themselves into the valley as animals in their burrow would. The Poldarks would become the newest resident wildlife. Ross, cheerfully sweeping the concrete floor, sang merrily as Dem mixed a sharp smelling disinfectant into a pail of water. He chuckled a little as he sang for there was a whitewashed wall alongside the house and Dem would have a garden patch before long.

"The other night, I had a dream, The funniest dream of all. I dreamt that I was kissing you, Behind the garden wall. And she said..."

Dem stood and began stirring the mop in the bucket like a witch at a cauldron. She watched what she was doing but sang in answer,

"Lil Eyes, I love you Honey, Lil Eyes, I love you. I love you in the springtime and the fall Honey, Honey. Lil Eyes, I love you Honey, Lil Eyes, I love you, I love you the best of all!" 

Ross stopped sweeping, a gruesome looking pile of leaves, bone dry animal droppings and bits of twig and pebble had been rounded up in his careful cleaning. He hung from the handle, clutched the broom like a lifeline, pretending it was the only thing holding him up, so in love with his Sweetness was he. With a teasing flutter of his eyelashes he sang,

"Now tell me honey, tell me do, Who is the one you love? Oh tell me honey, tell me do, Who is your turtle dove? And she said..."

Dem clung from her mop handle and placed her hand over her heart like a pledge, leaving a smudge of dirt on her man's shirt as she smiled into Ross' eyes and sang,

"Lil Eyes, I love you Honey, Lil Eyes, I love you. I love you in the springtime and the fall Honey, Honey. Lil Eyes, I love you, Honey, Lil Eyes, I love you, I love you the best of all!"

Ross grinned until his eyes crinkled. He resumed sweeping, aiming the pile of refuse to be swept out of the opening. He sang once more. With his back turned he did not see Dem lean the mop handle against the wall and tiptoe near, anticipating the next lyrics.

"I took my baby home last night, Beneath the spreading vine. I put my arms around her waist And pressed her lips to mine. And she said..."

Dem embraced Ross and he giggled in surprise. He stood and leaned the broomstick away as he turned to hold her and be kissed, quite thoroughly, by his wife. She kissed him. There was the hovering sharp scent of the antiseptic in its pail, the dry bracken and old filth of the floor sweepings at their feet. The fresh air from the open windows blew over them. There was the close scent of their perspiration, the musk of their exertions from carrying back the shopping and beginning to clean the place up. They might have ceased to be in the valley, in Italy, on the earth itself. The kiss suspended them both in a secret place. When Dem sang, she often looked into some distant somewhere. Ross knew himself to have achieved his dearest wish. He had entered that distant somewhere. Ross had the happiness of knowing that this secret place was their love and he had become its resident. They parted slowly with a teasing volley of small pecks. Tiny kisses that charmed them both. Dem smiled into Ross' eyes, hand soft at his hip. He still held the broom and startled to feel a nudge, feel it move at the floor. The cat was resting both paws at the base of the broom. She looked up and meowed her return. They looked to her, foreheads still close, Ross keeping his arm around Dem as they looked down. "Hello!" said Dem. The cat looked at them both, as if deciding whether to keep them or not. She looked at the pile of refuse Ross had swept with a chilly disdain. The cat side stepped it with feline grace and walked away to sit in the bottom corner of one of the bookcases. She turned, settled and watched them from this vantage point like a potentate. "I think she has given us her permission to stay," mused Ross, still reluctant to part from Dem. He tucked his chin at her neck and hugged her more. Dem rubbed his back, stroked it gently and closed her eyes. She loved her man. She opened them and smiled at the cat who continued to watch them. "Well, we must earn our keep for the landlady!" Ross stood up. "Yes. One last sweeping and then you can start mopping, Dem." They kept at it. Ross swept all the dirt out and swept all the floor again for good measure. Dem mopped the floor. Ross cleaned the shelves and they both scrubbed the inside of the daybed frame, wiped it dry as best they could rubbing it with dry rags. Needing the moisture to evaporate from their cleaning and the smell of the disinfectant to dissipate, they decided to wash in the river. "Wash" loosely defined for it soon became an excuse to romp and play in the water, cavorting nude and becoming clean inspite of themselves. They laughed and wrestled and stole kisses in the river. They became amorous upon the riverbank and found they must enter the water again. Their skin was pasted with grass and leaves from their exertions. It was a testament to their youth that they had walked into town, ferried back supplies, swept and mopped the little house and the area around the fountain bed, scrubbed clean the frame of the daybed and the shelves along the wall, played vigorously in the river, fucked with abandon at the river's edge and washed again before tiredness set upon the pair of them. Ross trudged behind Dem as they each carried a pail of water up the hill, hair still streaming wet, their bodies damp. Two nude figures bringing water up the hill in heavy pails. The Poldarks only had one towel. They dried in the open air, by and by, so the towel not get too sopped with water. Ross set the bucket down, as did Dem. They were feeling their fatigue. They went back to the river's edge to collect their clothes. They hadn't had as much concentrated labor in a day since they left the growers compound. Dem grasped Ross' hand, both of them straggling back up the meadow. They flit about, all day, into town and back, over the land, cleaning the building like birds preparing a nest, playing in the water, on the land as skyclad as any other animal in the valley, as much a creature of the place as an Adam and Eve that had not yet met the snake. Much activity in one day. They felt the daybed frame, considered it dry enough and brought the mattress in. They unrolled it, lay it in the frame and took time to admire its snug and correct fit before laying a printed tapestry over it, tucking the edges under so it looked tidy and admiring how that looked too. A dark blue ground with some western person's attempt at a Persian woodblock print. Repeats of frilled decorations around a diamond shaped center, highly colored and a bit busy. One's eye could take it all in at once or look bit by bit at the scatter of designs. It was pretty to see but it also looked heavenly, inviting. Ross and Dem made the best of things. They had bunk beds when they lived in the growers compound. They had a mattress to sleep on when they lived in an artist's garret. They had a springy bed in their lodgings at Rue des Cannettes. They more often slept on (and under) park benches, warehouse floors, propped up against doorways, cobblestones paved under bridge arches, woodland, grass, pavement and many other cramped, dirty, secreted places. They took the smooth with the rough. Clean, fresh and just the right size for two, the Poldarks beheld the first mattress they purchased themselves. The stood over it, as naked as the day they were born and dead tired. A grudging realization that they needed to wash their feet... "We should get basins tomorrow..." yawned Dem. They did their best, they did not want to soil the rest of the water in the bucket so they wet rags that still smelled of the disinfectant they used earlier and wiped the soles of their feet clean. "And towels..." yawned Ross. They did not bother with clothes. The guitar case stood near at the wall. The cat curled nearer, learning to share her quarters with these new inhabitants by degrees. Dem crawled across on her knees in a dreamy tiredness. Ross climbed next to her. Up on his knees, Ross ducked his chin to catch her mouth in a deep kiss. Tired enough that his cock remained unmoved as he sighed in her mouth. A lovely kiss at the end of a long day's work. Still kneeling, they embraced with a giggle. Their feet were damp with a hint of the disinfectant scenting them from the rags they used. Humor in the fact that they were genuinely fatigued to the point where lovemaking was out of the question. "Lay down?" murmured Dem at Ross' neck. She purred as he rubbed her back gently with his hands. Ross huffed a laugh as Dem giggled once more for he gave a teasing little spank to her bottom. Ross smiled, had hoped to hear her laugh and was rewarded. If he was fortunate it would sweeten his dreams. Ross still had nightmares, sometimes. "Yes." He yawned. They lay on the daybed and fell asleep almost at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whistle While You Work, 
> 
> Just whistle while you work  
> And cheerfully together we can tidy up the place  
> So hum a merry tune  
> It won't take long when there's a song to help you set the pace  
> And as you sweep the room  
> Imagine that the broom  
> Is someone that you love and soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune  
> When hearts are high the time will fly so whistle while you work
> 
> Have we taken her pitch?: if a vagrant got to a good place first it was their "pitch" and they had the right to defend it from other homeless people, make them go somewhere else. 
> 
> tinkers: traveling metal workers who would go from place to place offering to mend pots and other useful items.
> 
> "Little Eyes": A popular 20th century folk song that was introduced back to Cornwall by Cornish miners returning from working in America. It is said that pasties in the U.S. states of Michigan, Montana and Wisconsin are authentic and fitty from this influx of Cornish workers.


	59. The Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waifs and strays

Ross brought his guitar. The money was hidden in the sheet music pocket. It was a large, eccentric wallet. Having managed an appointment to request that he and Demelza be allowed to live in the abandoned house Ross intended to pay on the spot. He also wanted to ask if it was truly not allowed to busk on the street or just the whim of a single policeman. If they had the right, earning a bit of cash in smaller amounts would be useful. By asking formal permission they were risking being told they did not have the right to be there. Maybe somebody owned the place, as abandoned looking as it was. Dem did not want to leave their clothes either and carried the sack of their belongings too. If the Poldarks were told they couldn't live there, they wanted their things on their person, then and there. In some ways Ross was also anxious to pay for lodgings, to deplete their funds and relieve him of the fear they might get stolen. Living hand to mouth was a hard life but fearing theft was difficult to set aside. Sunk in these thoughts, he did not speak much as they walked to the townhall. Dem walked quietly too, having some of the same worries. It's strange about money. It can be a devil of a problem to be without it but their recent experience with having it added a layer of anxiety they would be happy to stop feeling. They hoped to be allowed to live in the house. They wanted the assurance that they had the legal right to be there so they could live there in truth and not get turned out. It was sturdy and just needed some elbow grease to make it closed up properly on its open side and cozy. She had plans to buy some potted vegetables from the market that had fruited already and seed too. Something to take root and feed them right away. Plants to sprout from seeds and grow as the summer went forward. That's when having money felt wonderful. Dem had the happiness of knowing she could get the stock and gardening tools she wanted. Ross said they would buy some sort of wheelbarrow or cart, so they could bring more things back and forth. In silence they walked. They had no "good" clothes to look dressed up. They tidied up as best they could and promised themselves some new clothes for day to day and a set they could keep for best.

As they walked, they began to enter the town proper. The place was busy and loud with a lot of fish traders, open air markets selling all manner of things. Stall keepers shouting their wares and good prices vied with street children at play, housewives shopping, old men yelling comments at passersby or discussing things loudly in their twos and threes. Ross and Dem liked the hum of activity around them but they did notice that there were no street performers at all. That seemed to make the policeman's claim true. As they made their way to the town hall, a loud cheer was heard. The Poldarks might have ignored it but Dem heard a dog whimpering and turned to see the commotion. "Ross! They want to put that poor dog in a fight!" Ross craned his neck to see for the man who carried the frightened dog had entered the circle of spectators. Ross was nervous to intervene with his guitar case holding all their worldly wealth but he also felt the sport they were organizing was cruel. Dem looked at the guitar case. 'Ross should guard the money...' she thought. "Ross, stay with the bag!" She dropped it at his feet and ran forward. "Dem! Wait!" Ross looked about. These men looked nasty. He took the bag up in his hand and ambled up the the edge of the crowd. "You there! Leave that dog alone!" yelled Dem as she struggled through the crowd. The fighter, a mixed breed heavyweight that struggled on a leash, eager to compete, started growling at Dem. The language barrier made a problem but they all understood that this bony, pinched looking English boy was trying to stop the entertainment. Argument and yelling ensued. Dem walked up to the man and came face to face with a soft eyed, dog. Fur straggled with tangles and matted, dirty. A stray mutt that whimpered its distress and looked at her with the same look she'd seen in girls at the Home. Dem stepped back a little to look at the dog properly. The weight of the world seemed to show from the dog's eyes. She knew that weight. Had no one shown this animal kindness? ' _He looks defeated by life_...' Dem frowned. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" she said with a haughty scold. She was herself but also every sort of boy she knew from the streets at her back, in her manner. She had lived among them enough to act fearless. The men thought she was a boy. She argued right in the man's face. "Let that dog go!" said Dem, arms rigid at her sides, hands in balled up fists, thumb inward like she was prepared to punch. Ross pushed forward. These men were angry and Dem was in the center of them all. "You get out! You not any business here! You not stop the fight!" said the man. "Let that dog go!" said Dem. "He can't fight! He's not a fighter ! You are cowards who just want to see a dog die! For fun! You let that dog go!" Ross struggled through the people to reach Dem. Dem heard the guitar hit against someone and make its hollow noise of the strings shaking inside the case. Ross approached and looked at the stray. It looked sad. Not even scared. It looked resigned to its life ending in the jaws of the other dog and the men laughing as it happened. Ross looked at the man. The dog in his arms might have been a sack of rocks or some rubbish on the street. He chose it because it was expendable, no one to know or care about it. _You think we'll let you walk out of here_? Ross shook the memory of throwing the gun into the water in Marseilles. He pitched it out as far as he could and felt the strain in his neck as he raised his arm. The bruising from the pressure of the man squeezing his neck, trying to kill him. Shook himself into the present. He looked about and then to Dem. Dem had no care for herself, her own safety, at this moment. There were no women or children in this crowd. These were proper roughnecks but she did not care. She saw a wrong and wanted it stopped. If she hadn't been passed out from drink at the cardtable, Ross might have thought she was inspired by Garance, calling the man a coward. He could see her need to defend the dog. It was in the same position they had been in. These men enjoyed being mean and cruel to a helpless dog. Dem lifted her chin, at this point she was too angry to feel fear on her own behalf, even as the men around her were angry. Ross look around once more. Showing they had money might be the worst idea in the world but Dem could not get her way without some sort of inducement. If they got annoyed enough, Ross worried they might sic the fighter on her. "Lira!" He said loudly. He put down the bag of clothes and rifled in his jeans front pocket. He took some money he had put in his pockets for their shopping. Far more than any stray was worth, not so much as to be truly foolish. The money for candles, bits and pieces. "Lira!" He waved it at the man holding the dog. Ross said loud enough for all to hear, "Stop the fight I will buy the dog!" The man raised an eyebrow. Ross nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yes! Money for the dog." Grumbling was heard. The second boy had money. That was going to put the brakes on this fight. The man looked at the cash. Wiggling his fingers further through the handle of the guitar case, Ross unfolded and fanned out the money, showing him the amount over the handle, not risking putting the case down. The man nodded. He put the dog on the ground. It was shaking. It didn't run. Dem picked it up. Ross put the bag of clothes over his shoulder and turned to leave. The dog smelled terrible but Dem held him close and followed Ross out of the circle of men. Ross hurried to the town hall. He was worried that bargining for the dog and stopping the fight might cause a problem. He was frightened that the men might loosen the fighter to attack them anyway and wanted to get well away. Dem held the dog firmly. It shivered like a jelly. The poor thing was surprised to be alive. "You're with us now, fella." whispered Dem. "We won't leave you..."

They were permitted to bring the dog in the building. The guard felt the state of these street people was no better than the mutt. They walked in to see a clerk writing at his desk, looking like a judge presiding over a court. They walked a short aisle between benches where people could sit, looked up at him at a remove in front of him in a small vestibule. The clerk, if he had heard their entrance did not look up. Ross cleared his throat. "Good day, sir. My name is Poldark. We have an appointment." The clerk looked up, intrigued and believing he was about to come face to face with a young English gentleman. The voice was very cultured and upper class for all the person sounded young. He looked up about to greet the man in English and then stared. Standing in front of him were two ruffians; a dark haired boy holding a guitar case and a sack and a red headed boy clinging to a grubby looking dog. The clerk had heard about these two. Trying to beg for money in the square, skulking around the town. They wore grimy canvas shoes, blue jeans and shirts to big for them, men's shirts. Ross, holding his guitar case nodded a polite 'Hello.' The clerk frowned. "You are the English beggars?" Ross smiled, genuinely believing the man to have scrambled the English rather than truly calling them beggars. "Buskers, sir! Buskers. Musicians." Ross lifted his chin with a bit of pride in their musicianship. "If people feel there is value in our performance, some of them show gratitude with a donation, sir." The clerk smirked. "You say you do not beg. You say people just give you money because they like you?" Dem smiled over the dog, shifting a little to keep hold of him. "We give value for money, sir!" The clerk looked confused. "You are a boy?" He looked at the notes he made, 'Mr. and Mrs. Poldark' written there. "These names, the Poldarks. Are these names your parents or you?" asked the clerk. Ross spoke. "They are our names, sir. We are Mr. and Mrs. Poldark." The clerk saw two young tramps and a dirty dog. "You are married?" Dem nodded. "I am a girl, sir. Ross is my husband." The clerk looked between them again. They looked disgraceful. Two hippies asking to live in an abandoned property in the valley. No one would rent to them. He could see why. A girl running about like a boy! "Why do you dress like that? You look abominable! Haven't you got any self respect?!" asked the clerk. Dem frowned over the dog in her arms. The clerk was very disapproving. Ross looked between them. Dem was irritated. "How long would I last out here dressed as a girl?! I have got self respect!" She glowered at the clerk. Ross smiled. Dem was brave. She had all the men who wanted to see the dog fight think Demelza was a boy. She strode right in and told the man with the dog off like any boy would. She defended her femininity to this clerk even as she was as bold as any Parisian street rat. His Sweetness never backed down. The clerk knit his brows. They looked like the sort street children that skipped school and ran about with their parents not lifting a finger to raise them right. But eighteen was legally old enough to engage in a lease. He looked at them. The boy enjoyed his wife's defense of herself. He looked admiringly at his wife. She looked defiant as she cuddled a filthy looking stray dog in her arms like it was a baby. These crazy hippie children wanted to live in the old, ruined hunting lodge. "You want to live in the valley. The folly in the valley?" Dem did not know the term. "Folly?" The clerk rolled his eyes. Ross did not like his attitude but he was the person who could help them so Ross tried not to show his annoyance. The clerk watched the dark haired boy frown. The clerk explained. "The old hunting lodge up there that looks like the Arabian Nights, that is called folly, the decorations were extravagant. It is a strange place. You want to live there?" asked the clerk. Ross looked at him earnestly. "We can pay! We can pay money. We will live up there and not trouble anyone..." Dem nodded. "We'll tidy it up" Ross nodded. "We will keep it clean and we won't busk. We just want to live quietly." The clerk frowned. "There is no plumbing, no electric!" Dem nodded. "We know that. We aren't asking the town to give us those things. We just want to live there." Ross took a step forward. The clerk recoiled and looked as if he might get fleas from him. Ross accepted that they looked a bit worse for wear in their traveling clothes and a stray dog along with them. "Please, sir." said Ross, "If we had a lease we could live knowing we had a home, a place that we can stay." Dem nodded. The clerk looked at the map in front of him, there was a large parcel of land surrounding where the folly stood. It was wild land. Nothing civilized was up there, the folly was some leftover daydream from the 1700s. He should send them packing. It isn't even a proper house... "You want a lease to live in the folly?" They nodded. "You will pay money? You have money?" They nodded. The clerk looked over their heads at the janitor. He had stopped polishing a rail made of brass with a rag and looked askance at these kids and their dirty dog, a guitar, a sack of things that were probably as mangey as they were. The clerk smirked. The clerk looked at these two street musicians who bragged that they offered 'value for money'. He would offer them a deal they could not refuse. They would have to win their right to the folly in the valley. He looked at the plot of land on the map. He marked out the folly and the surrounding wood behind. He added the eastern side that they would have access to the river. He added the southern side, the approach up the cliff. This was a huge area but the couple was asking for the right to live there. A proper lease had to account for the parcel of land not just the building. Granting access to the approach to the folly and the right to river's water in a place with no plumbing, to have it formally accounted for by right of lease, was only sensible. He wrote out the specifics, twice. He could simply destroy them once he sent them packing. "You may have a five year lease." They smiled as he looked up from the papers on the desk. "You can live there, rent free, if you can make me cry with your music." Their mouths fell open. Dem was shocked. "Ours? But nothing to pay?!" Ross looked at the clerk and felt anger. The clerk was playing with them. "You promise?" asked Ross with a sour look. The clerk nodded. He lifted up two identical papers. "They are drawn up and only need the seals affixed. If you can bring me tears, I will grant you five years, rent free." He smiled. "But perhaps you do not wish to..." Dem looked to Ross. Even if he cheated them wasn't it worth trying? Ross read Dem's thoughts. 'Rent free..' thought Ross. They could do up the building right. They could buy a horse! They could use their money to look after themselves and get that side built on for the cold weather. If the clerk was honest. Ross came along side Dem as she put the dog on the floor. It stayed near her feet. "He thinks we can't." whispered Ross, angrily, "That's why the deal is too good to be true. He thinks we can't do it..." Dem closed her eyes. She was no longer there. She was in the Home watching the matrons scheme to weedle money out of tight fisted donors. The sort that wanted to be known as charitable but were grudging and bitter over giving up money. They would discuss, strategize and plot their approach as the girls ate their meals in enforced silence. ' _Ave Maria always loosens the pocketbook_ , _they snivel at the sound_...' the matrons would say. They sang it every Sunday. They learned it and 'Jerusalem', over and over, the girls of the Home could sing it sweetly in their sleep they were so drilled in it, to loosen people's pocketbooks with sentimentality. 'Jerusalem' was too English to work in this case... The clerk watched the girl go into a sort of trance and then whisper in the boy's ear. He nodded and opened the guitar case. He put the strap over his shoulder and strummed. The boy nodded to the clerk as if they had only just arrived. The girl knelt down to scratch the dog's head. The girl stood up, stepped forward and nodded to her husband. Her arms loose at her sides, looked past the clerk with a beautific smile. The boy played the melody with the guitar sounding more like a mandolin for he used a pick to mimic the vibrato of that instrument. He stepped back and played simply underneath his wife's voice. 

Ave Maria

Gratia plena

Maria, gratia plena

Maria, gratia plena

Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Benedictus fructus, fructus ventris

Ventris tui, Jesus

Ave Maria

Ave Maria

Mater Dei

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus

Ora, ora pro nobis

Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus

Nunc et in hora mortis

In hora mortis nostrae

In hora mortis, mortis nostrae

In hora mortis nostrae

Ave Maria

The clerk was speechless. He swallowed down the urge to weep. The song was beautiful. He looked across at the janitor. The janitor mopped his eyes with the rag hanging out of his pocket. The clerk looked away from the janitor. The clerk realized he was trying to deny the couple when he saw the janitor crying. Trying to stop himself crying by looking to the other man. But the other man was just as effected. He realized that he had lost. He sniffed wetly and nodded his head. He rubbed his eyes in irritation and affixed the notary seals on both copies. He handed their copy over the desk to Ross who hadn't removed the guitar yet. The clerk sniffed once more. "I am a man of my word, Mr. Poldark. Your lease, sir." Ross did not gloat. He walked forward and took the lease. They looked each other in the eye. "Thank you." said Ross. The clerk nodded and looked down at his work, much as he had when they arrived, shuffling papers about the desk. He looked up and watched the youngsters as they readied to leave. Ross pulled the strap over his head, removed his guitar and put it and the lease in the case. In a secreted maneuver, Ross pulled free money to make up for buying the dog and put it in his pocket. He closed the case and looked up at Dem. She smiled her satisfaction. It was not a cynical move, her choice of Ave Maria. She had real feeling for the song, but she also knew from experience what it was capable of and it served their ends as she'd hoped. The clerk had teased them but she felt he might not be joking, felt he would keep his promise if they could bring him to tears. She patted her thigh gently. "Come on boy! Come home with us!" The dog looked at the girl. She held him when he was scared. They brought him away from the humans that sought to kill him. He blinked up at her wagged what was left of his tail in his gratitude. Ross and Dem looked open mouthed, at the dog, at each other. Someone, at some earlier point, had cut off his tail. The dog was wagging a stump. He needed looking after. He needed a home. They had one to share now... Dem, in that moment, realized they now had a home for five years. She looked to the clerk. "Thank you." said Dem. The clerk looked up from the desk. A girl who dressed like a boy, sang like an angel and thanked him in a manner so heartfelt he swallowed down the need to start crying again. What was it his mother often said? 'Non dimenticate l'ospitalità; alcuni, praticandola, hanno accolto degli angeli senza saperlo...' The shopkeepers and police tittered over the arrival of these two disreputable foreign kids. He had looked askance as well. They showed themselves in that moment. The boy playing as the girl sang. These odd, foreign kids had the angels at their back. It had not been a matter of extracting value for money. It did not allow him to gloat over the kids failing, playing their music to no effect upon him. It was not a prideful or boastful display on their part, trying to prove him wrong as a point of vanity. When the girl sang, looking past him, past the walls of the room, perhaps to heaven itself, the song freed a weight from his heart. The clerk was truly touched by the Poldarks' performing Ave Maria. He was touched to see that the kids felt so sorry for the mutt they'd picked up. It had its tail cut off and it still tried to show happiness by wagging what was left of it. The shock and sympathy on both their faces was so genuine and it shamed him. The clerk would not spare a thought for a filthy cur like that in the streets. The Poldarks were so able to see the good in things it made him feel ashamed. He watched Ross and Dem as they looked to each other, determined to care for the stray, to bring this dog with them. They agreed, at once without having to speak about it, to share what shelter they could give with no hesitation to the animal, having only just secured a shell of a home he originally had no intention of them receiving. They both might well be angels in disguise. "Thank you, Mrs. Poldark." said the clerk, quietly. And with that, the Poldarks made the journey back through the town. Ross bought a metal bucket, votive candles, soap and another broom. Dem bought bread, sausage, fruit and vegetables. Ross bought butcher's ends and a beef bone for their new friend and they went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Weight, The Band 1968
> 
> I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin' about half past dead  
> I just need some place where I can lay my head  
> "Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"  
> He just grinned and shook my hand, "no" was all he said
> 
> Take a load off Fanny  
> Take a load for free  
> Take a load off Fanny  
> And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
> (You put the load right on me)
> 
> I picked up my bag, I went lookin' for a place to hide  
> When I saw Carmen and the Devil walkin' side by side  
> I said, "Hey, Carmen, come on let's go downtown"  
> She said, "I gotta go but my friend can stick around"
> 
> Take a load off Fanny  
> Take a load for free  
> Take a load off Fanny  
> And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
> (You put the load right on me)
> 
> Go down, Miss Moses, there's nothin' you can say  
> It's just ol' Luke and Luke's waitin' on the Judgment Day  
> "Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Anna Lee?"  
> He said, "Do me a favor, son, won'tcha stay and keep Anna Lee company?"
> 
> Take a load off Fanny  
> Take a load for free  
> Take a load off Fanny  
> And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
> (You put the load right on me)
> 
> Crazy Chester followed me and he caught me in the fog  
> He said, "I will fix your rack if you'll take Jack, my dog"  
> I said, "Wait a minute, Chester, you know I'm a peaceful man"  
> He said, "That's okay, boy, won't you feed him when you can"
> 
> Yeah, take a load off Fanny  
> Take a load for free  
> Take a load off Fanny  
> And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
> (You put the load right on me)
> 
> Catch a cannon ball now to take me down the line  
> My bag is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time  
> To get back to Miss Fanny, you know she's the only one  
> Who sent me here with her regards for everyone
> 
> Take a load off Fanny  
> Take a load for free  
> Take a load off Fanny  
> And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
> (You put the load right on me)
> 
> "Non dimenticate l'ospitalità; alcuni, praticandola, hanno accolto degli angeli senza saperlo.": Ebrei 13:2/Hebrews 13:2 "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. A variant of this biblical passage is also the motto for the Parisian, English language bookstore, Shakespeare and Company.


	60. Splish Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takin' a bath

"He looks like a 'Garrick'!" shrugged Dem.

Ross gave way. He had christened Tabitha Bethia, not an ordinary sort of name for a cat. Sweetness chose the dog's name. That Ross himself answered to the name of a french pastry these last three years and continually shifted between 'Dem', 'Sweetness' 'My love' and 'Demelza', both in his head and his speech with no true demarcation between them might have made him accept 'Garrick' for the dog from the first. One does not always see these things in a clear way. Ross thought it too human a name, at first, but he absorbed it into what was fairly quickly. "The first order of business is to clean him up..." said Ross. "We should wash out the clothes too..." Dem nodded. Their new friend was in need of tidying up. Ross brought more clothes and the one towel they had to use and followed Dem and Garrick to the river. The birdsong and sunlight was calming to Garrick so used to the streets and bustle of humans. It was pretty here. The girl led him to a river that looked fun and Garrick plunged in with no ceremony. "That's a good boy!" laughed Ross calling from some yards behind. Dem entered fully dressed but for her sneakers. She wanted to scrub the dog clean, check for crawlers. Once he was settled she would wash herself and her clothes. She smelled of everything the dog had gotten into but it did not trouble her greatly. She and Ross had been that disheveled, more than once. "Come on, Garrick! Come on!" She called him to stand near the bank in a shallow side where she could look him over well, and scrubbed him gently with her hands and a rag. She looked closely at his flesh where some scars and ticks were hidden under the tangles. Ross, also dressed but barefoot, knelt in the water and helped pull the parasites off with a broken off stick from a tree. Pushed the ticks off and looked to make certain the whole bug was pulled out. They worked slowly and Garrick was a patient animal. He had two humans washing him and tending his skin like a pharaoh's dog. Like the sort of dogs with owners who let them ride in cars and and had their snouts in the air, far too grand to notice a scrounger like him. They kept saying. "Good boy!" and "Garrick". He had a name? Oh! These humans called him "Garrick". He was equal to any of those stuck up town dogs now.

They had to work at Garrick, for they couldn't have him in the house without getting him properly clean. If Tabitha Bethia objected they could keep him in the stables in the short term and then contrive some sort of doghouse for him. Garrick seemed so gentle they hoped the two could coexist. Ross pried apart tangles, kept checking where the fur met the flesh. Dem checked his ears and when all seemed removed she and Ross both soaped up their hands and scrubbed Garrick gently, trying to pry apart more tangles as they did. Garrick gave a snort of contentment. The washing felt very relaxing. Garrick struggled to remember if he had ever been clean. They rubbed all over him and he began to waggle his right hind foot in a sort of ecstasy. If it wasn't a matter of drowning he might have laid on his back to continue the enjoyment of having two humans rub soap all over him in a delightful massage. Ross started laughing. "I think he might float away on a cloud!" Dem smiled warmly. "There's a good boy! All clean like a brand new penny!" She waded out a little. The dog would work the suds out swimming. "Come on, Garrick!" The girl was calling him forward for a swim. He swam. She ducked lower in the water and had bright, happy eyes. Garrick came nearer. The water was refreshing and the girl was cheerful, smiling nose to nose with him and staying near. This girl smiled into his eyes. He liked that. She held him after they brought him away from the other humans. He could feel the difference between the man and the girl. The man held him in a sort of contempt. He only had eyes for the vicious dog that growled threats and told him the humans would leave his remains for crows to eat. Garrick believed him. The dog was bulked up from humans rewarding him for being a strong fighter and he knew his end was at hand. The man knew it too. His grasp was loose and he was impatient to put him down. To see him die.The girl held him close. For all he was unkempt. She held him and told him he was going to be with her and the male, who waved magic paper, and made the man give him up. She _saw_ him.

That was a first. Oh, he wasn't invisible. People did see him. People cursed him, they shooed him away, they looked at him in disgust as he slunk through the streets trying to survive. This girl saw him. Saw he had reached the end of his rope for the other dog would kill him and he had reached a point of philosophy over it. He could not remember his mother or his litter mates. He could not remember a kind word from anyone. He had lived a year at least, maybe a year and a half. He had survived by his wits that long and lost at the last. When the girl looked at him he knew she saw his position. There is sadness, of course. But the time to face death is serious business and the fear becomes outweighed by the unfairness of it all. He paused over these ruminations, 'Garrick'. He thought. 'I am Garrick...' Life is unfair but what can be done about it? These humans did something about it. She yelled at the man and the boy waved his magic paper. The man let him go. He would not die. He was so shocked over the outcome he just stood shaking. And this girl held him. And now she smiled at him and persuaded him on to the river bank to shake himself dry. He had owners now. He was not dead. The boy and the girl washed him clean and wanted to be friends wth him. Garrick shook himself dry in a frisson of happiness so pure he felt he might raise in the air like a bird. Dry enough, he lay in the grass. Garrick watched them walk back and forth in that strange furlessness humans had. The boy had made a half hearted attempt at fur but it was not a fine coat. It grew like weeds, on their heads, in their corners but fizzled out at their limbs. They didn't seem to mind though. The high anxiety and emotions that Garrick felt today, staring down his mortality, his reprieve and now the calm surroundings and strangeness of having friends tired him out. They turned to look at him. They spoke like two legged humans but it sounded different. A clipped way of speaking that didn't flow like the humans he was use to hearing. Perhaps it takes a stranger to help. These two were not from around here... He struggled to watch the humans enter the river again the cloths they kept on them in lieu of fur hanging in the trees... He had a name... 'Garrick...' 

They laughed to see Garrick shake himself dry like some sort of tap dancer. Ross, still a little nervous that the dog's parasites not hitch a ride on him, bent forward to wash his arms and forearms. He looked to see Dem already returning to the water, stripping off and washing her clothes in the river with vigor and her breast moving in time with her scrubbing. He followed suite. They washed their clothes and wrung them out, mounted the bank to lay them on tree branches. "We need washtubs like Brose had..." said Ross as he shook out his shirt. Dem hummed agreement, wringing excess water out of a leg of her jeans. Their nudity was of no consequence this moment. The chore of washing their clothes, relieving themselves and bathing had utilitarian urgency. They puttered about quite nude, with no sense of arousal and serious at their tasks. Dem turned to see Garrick, struggling to stay awake in the grass. "Look..." she whispered. Ross turned to look, the dog looked sleepy. "Poor guy." sighed Ross. "He's had it hard, not just today, you can tell..." They stood and smiled at the dog as he blinked slowly. Let him dream of smiles... They walked, hand in hand, to the river and Ross gave her a hug as they stood waist deep. "You are worth all of Westminster! They thought you were as hard as Crazy Ace!" said Ross. Dem giggled. "I think I tried to be Crazy Ace! I tried to be all of you at once!" Ross blinked back surprise. He had not considered Dem a "second rate" boy. As Palmier he had come to see Dem as so much of a fellow rat she defied all notion of gender. "I have always seen you as part of the gang! You are as much a boy as any of us were!" said Ross. Dem was struck with wonder. "Really?!" Standing in a river in Italy, nude as husband and wife, Ross had pronounced her as much a boy in her own right as their comrades on the street and it charmed Dem to hear it. They remained linked by their fingertips, the tall trees and wild land surrounding them. "You were my other, better self, Dem." said Ross, only realizing it as he spoke it now. "Brave, clever. You were the only one the flic put up with sometimes! Even they could see you were special, Dem!" Demelza's face grew emotional suddenly. Ross put his hands at her cheeks. "You saved my life, Dem. You didn't think twice about helping that dog. You are Palmier, Sweetness. You are my hero." It was not tears. It was not crying. But the emotion in her made her eyes shine. Ross kissed her mouth, gently. It was not passion in them. It was an older loyalty, that of comrades in arms and together through thick and thin. They were, perhaps, Brose's children. Ross had saved his lips for Dem but she could also pledge her loyalty like a rat, like a boy and could also remain steadfast and true like Brose's admonishment to be a "good, true man". They rested their foreheads together, standing in the river. Palmier gave each other a warm embrace. A warm embrace in the chill of the river water. They smiled agreement that they finish up and dry off. They did so and dressed in dry clothes. They waited for Garrick to wake. They lay in the grass, talking quietly of many things as the clouds drifted over their land. They were the legal occupants of the folly for five years. They would finish the extension, plant a garden and have a home of their own. It was a heady feeling. A snuffling snort announced Garrick returning to consciousness. "Come on, Garrick," said Ross. "Let's go home." he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splish Splash, Bobby Darrin 1958
> 
> Splish, splash, I was takin' a bath  
> Long about a Saturday night, yeah  
> A rub dub, just relaxin' in the tub  
> Thinkin' everythin' was alright
> 
> Well, I stepped out the tub  
> I put my feet on the floor  
> I wrapped the towel around me and I  
> Opened the door
> 
> And then a-splish, splash  
> I jumped back in the bath  
> Well, how was I to know  
> There was a party goin' on?
> 
> There was a-splishin' and a-splashin'  
> Reelin' with the feelin'  
> Movin' and a-groovin'  
> Rockin' and a-rollin', yeah, yeah
> 
> Bing, bang, I saw the whole gang  
> Dancin' on my living room rug, yeah  
> Flip, flop, they was doin' the bop  
> All the teens had the dancin' but
> 
> There was lollipop with a Peggy Sue  
> Good golly, Miss Molly was-a even there, too  
> A- well-a, splish, splash, I forgot about the bath  
> I went and put my dancin' shoes on, yeah
> 
> I was a-rollin' and a-strollin'  
> Reelin' with the feelin'  
> Movin' and a-groovin'  
> Splishin' and a-splashin', yeah
> 
> Yes, I was a-splishin' and a-splashin'  
> I was a-rollin' and a-strollin'  
> Yeah, I was a-movin' and a-groovin'  
> We was a-reelin' with the feelin'  
> We was a-rollin' and a-strollin'  
> Movin' with the groovin'  
> Splish, splash, yeah
> 
> Splishin' and a-splashin'  
> One time I was splishin' and a-splashin'  
> Ooh, I was movin' and a-groovin'  
> Yeah, I was splishin' and a-splashin'


	61. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home

Ross brought a bucket of water from the river up the hill, walking slowly to keep it from sloshing over the rim. The meadow grew wild in a kaleidoscope of flowers and grasses. Butterflies and bees entertained themselves among the plants and indulged the recently arrived stranger trudging up the hill in an attitude of tolerance. Ross was absorbed into this tucked away world by the other inhabitants winged or legged, large and small. Ross looked ahead to the back of the folly and stopped walking to watch Dem cast cracked corn to the chickens. She stood, slim and erect in a long denim skirt and a close fitting tee shirt. She scattered a handful of grain to the ground as the chickens pecked away at the food, happy for this snack as well as the buffet of insects they had constant access to. Her breasts showed through the shirt, a gentle nudge of her nipples protruding under the fabric. She no longer braided up her hair, tucking it into a cap or hat, to secret her gender. It surrounded her face like a halo. Ross stopped to watch her stand among their happy chickens and look so beautiful. Dem was forever beautiful but their new home allowed her to cease hiding herself from the casual eyes of others as a boy and it took Ross' breath away to see Sweetness anew. The prettiness in her movements as she lifted the hem of her long skirts to mount the ladder or step daintily from stone to stone near the swimming hole. The new freedom of her figure released from shapeless men's shirts. Last week they bought new clothes, a long overdue refeshing of their wardrobes. They both bought new jeans but they each picked out a set of nice clothes to wear should they need to look formal. Going to Maxim's and seeing all the well dressed people, being on the ship among well dressed people, made them want a bit of insurance. That they be able to polish up sufficient, should the need arise. Dem also bought girls clothes and it pleased them both. Dem liked wearing them and Ross liked seeing her in them. Ross sighed. She fit in his arms, just right, whatever she wore but these recent days, taking Dem in his arms, sinking his face in her hair, so little between them, so little effort needed to investigate what lay beneath her skirts... He fell in love anew each second of the day. She turned with a smile of contentment and saw Ross at the gentler slope of the meadow. He was watching her and it warmed her cheeks a little to realize it. A faint blush half bashful, half arousal colored her cheeks. She felt his stare. Felt his love, his lust, in the space between them. He was her man and he had claim to her body, claim to the love in her heart. A mutual arrangement that pleased her. She mirrored the awe and admiration he showed as he stood over the bucket of water watching the chickens scratch and peck, watching her... The trees in the distance framed a tall, strong young man, slender and muscular in his slim form. His jeans worn in from their travels and gave like a comfortable second skin a hint of his long legs and the beginnings of his lust stirring. Dem felt his love no less when she was dressed as a boy. She liked her time on the streets and having that freedom alongside Ross to be as free as a boy. He loved her in every guise. She dearly loved being a girl again, though. Some mixture of being newly wed and the novelty of returning to her feminine form had possessed them both these days. They had grown up together. They had seen each other in every possible state at close quarters, each incremental step of growing from child to youth to now as they stood; man, woman, in a gentle sunlight and green clad beauty of nature in a hidden away parcel of Italy that was theirs, by right of lease, for five years. They became lovers in a conflagration of mutual longing. Denied nothing to the other, laid bare and all defenses down. That had been ever so but being here, being married and living in their own home, no adjoining tenants threatening their irritation next door, no one to know or see. No one to secret their lusts from, changed things in enjoyable ways. He was now permitted to take her whenever he wanted, or almost whenever he wanted, for her skirts were laughably easy to wrest aside in spontaneous whim. She could to observe him in undress as they swam and bathed, claim her lust upon him and he relinquished himself to her in obedience, she could indulge her fancies, could pull all the rest of the clothes off him, and he made no move against her demands, he welcomed them at any opportunity; to claim her rights as a wife, to claim his rights as a husband. If they felt like being naked in their wanderings, clad only by the sky and nature around them, they did. They had been overtaken by passion in this place. The ridge of the hill at the blue sky speckled trees, near their home made her beautiful. The dark edge of the woods beyond the meadow made him beautiful. And she fed the chickens and he hauled the water... he lifted the bucket and she watched him lift as they had been taught at the grower compound. She admired his body as he was careful to spread his feet for purchase and spare his back. Ross stood and bore the water to their home with a naughty smile playing across his face. If she was a helpless damsel with only inattentive chickens to guard her then she had no proof against this man who crept towards her under the guise of water carrying but who eyes promised something else... He set down the water bucket. She patted her hands clean on her denim skirt and walked towards the meadow. The glance over her shoulder left no doubt. Ross followed his wife.

Garrick snuffled at Dem's face. She might have been dead for all the response this produced. He turned to Ross and licked at his forehead. At this Ross stirred and realized that the dog was panting in his ear. He blinked his eyes open to see Garrick standing over them in their post coital slumber, laying tangled in the grass of the meadow. Not _entirely_ alone in their homestead. He chuckled which woke Dem as well as the pungent surprise of dog breath scented near. "Oh! Oh Garrick, you silly billy! Let me up!" Laughed Dem as Garrick barked "Good afternoon" and paced around them both as they rearranged their garments for modesty's sake in sight of their dog. Loggy, clothes askew, Ross dragging his jeans back up, still somewhat dreamy over Dem's enthusiasm as she barely allowed the jeans to leave his thighs before she mounted him with a sigh so delicious it could stop time. Dem pulling her shirt back on, with a shiver of remembrance at the speed and excitement of Ross divesting her of her tee shirt falling upon her breasts with a growl of desire, watching him stalking down the hill with single minded purpose, as if gathering water was simply a ruse to be near her. Garrick barked again and ran further down the hill. Ross helped Dem up and they followed, lazily plucking grass from each other's hair and clothing. Watching the dog romp about happily and bark occasionally as if reminding them to keep up. They walked with their dog awhile. Exploring the prettiness of their land, enjoying being as owned by this friendly dog as they now owned him. He made no threat to Tabitha Bethia or the chickens and seemed to like them all well. He was needy for love and they did not begrudge him. Didn't everyone just want to be loved and feel cared for? Ross and Dem, so often disappointed by life, felt renewed in their care for this gentle dog, their cat who deigned to share her lodgings with them. Responsible for three chickens who seemed to feel the lopsided coop they built, from odd cast offs of wood in the stables, was acceptable shelter. Dem ran forward to Garrick's delight and Ross slowed, to watch them play. ' _Is that how we were_...?' He watched Dem feint and dodge, Garrick changing direction to meet her and barking happily. Ross thought of himself and Dem, playing in the streets of Paris when they were newly on their own having left Brose. Madame Albaret let Ross leave his guitar safe at Rue des Cannettes and he ran the streets, unencumbered by having to keep hold of the case. The whole of the Latin Quarter had been their playground. Sometimes upwards of twenty rats played tag in the busy streets under the noses of all the workaday people cursing them as they came too near the ordinary folk who couldn't see the fun to be had. They cursed them as rats... Ross watched Dem play with Garrick. She who could make a friend of anyone. She was even barking back to the dog and Ross could see the excitement in the exchange. Garrick leapt up with glee 'talking' back to her as they grew further away and he could see them fall into a loving friendship. 'Is that what we looked like...?' he thought again. 'Was there ever a time that I did not feel love for Dem? Could it be seen to occur, year after year? Could people see it happening? Did I feel it happening? Was there any one day when that love became _true_ or was it always there, growing each day...?' She turned suddenly, eyes bright as she looked to her husband in the meadow. "Come on slow poke!" And her happy laugh as Garrick barked his own admonishment at Ross and they ran forward towards the trees. Ross' heart swelled. To see Dem so happy, to see the dog so happy, to feel happy himself. To know that love, love for nature, love for animals, love for their eccentric home in this secret place, _love for him_... exuded from Dem like sunlight upon nature, upon the animals, upon their home, _upon him_ ... He ran to catch them up. Across the meadow into the woods on a beautiful day with a new friend in this dog and his wife.

They took their time walking back to the folly. They, all three, played fetch and tossed a stick that Garrick returned to each of them in an enjoyment over having two friends to play with. Ross tacked a sheet to the mouth of the opening on the side of the folly. It served like the flap of a tent. They would finish it, they decided. They would build it to extend a little more and enclose it for an extra room. The placement of the stove meant they could have a snug, warm parlor in the cold of the winter. Have a home in truth. They entered through the door rather than the covered opening at the side. They entered their home through the front door and it pleased them. Mr. and Mrs. Poldark came in through the front door. Their front door.

Ross watched the original lady of the house, Tabitha Bethia, drag a captured mouse under the daybed to enjoy in privacy as he played guitar and Dem sketched him. The first of many images of them in their new home. They were grateful to Brose and took his admonishment that they continue to draw seriously. Daylight was fading. They promised themselves some oil lamps to have brighter light at night. More candles could be had, quite inexpensively. The thick glass votive candles, tall and short, were sold everywhere in the town and they burned safely in their glass columns, made to burn for days on end. They would save the fuel for nighttime and use the candles day and night. They were charmed at the novelty of needing things. Charmed by having money to purchase them. Charmed to have a place to put them. They had to buy things a little at a time because they could only carry so much at a time. Ross thought of the stables and the old tack hanging there. Old bridles and things that were too old to use. Much of the tools in the stables were old but in good condition to be used; shovels, a rake, a metal dustpan clearly meant to scoop up manure. Maybe buying a donkey or even a horse would help them bring things they needed up the valley. A bed might just fit at the far corner of the room... They could use the daybed more as it was meant to be, like a sofa. "We will bring back lamps and kerosene tomorrow, but we should look at the livestock yard we saw when we first arrived. We might find a donkey or a horse to help us get supplies up here." Dem's eyes widened. "Oh Ross! Could we!" Ross and Dem exchanged a bright smile. There was fun to be had shopping for their needs. "Yes! The stables look quite sound! And there is grass growing further on from here that will make for good hay. Plenty of grazing when the weather is fair and hay for the winter!" smiled Ross, "I'll teach you to ride, Dem! Whether a donkey or a horse it's not hard!" They sat in quiet happiness over this new plan. "We can bring a proper bed up here if we had a strong animal to help us." said Ross in a nonchalant manner. Dem blinked agreement. They did not have to discuss the niceties of what that entailed. Dem showed Ross her drawing to his praise and they went out to sit at the fountain bed. They had a loaf of good, rustic bread, a dry sausage that had been cut into coin like slices by the shopkeeper, and oranges that were red inside rather than orange. This was a merry surprise when they peeled them. A speckled maroon blush marking parts of the rind did not hint at the possibility of a dark red interior for the Poldarks. The rich flavor and crimson flesh, so dark against the pale pith of the fruit, brought a sigh of pleasure to them. Even the oranges were magical in Italy! As they came to love France in the beginning of their adventures, they came to love Italy. The tenor of each place was different with their own way of being. Ross and Dem sank into the rhythm of this new home in a new country with joy and satisfaction. They were part of this land in a more primal and immediate way here. The growers compound surrounded them in nature. The Paris streets were their home, a land of wonder and enchantment. But the hand of man was ever present in their life in France. The love they bore for Italy stemmed from feeling one with the place. At peace in the love of their strong friendship and recent wedding. Part of the land itself, living in this funny little house that someone before them had cared for deeply. Part of this wild canyon that allowed two lovers to enter and stay. To become part of the land and be as the animals here. Tending their nest, tending their mate like two birds in a bower. They found peace here. Contentment to be a part of the land and bring little change to it. Enclose their little folly, bring the garden to proper form. Live among the animals that were wild and have a happy family of domesticated ones. Tabitha Bethia straddled both worlds, a feral cat willing to welcome two feral children into her domain. She might have seen what Brose's cat, Mimi, had felt in them. Mimi might have marked her kittens and Tabitha Bethia accepted her feline approval of them. Sent her Parisian kittens into the world to charm famous Spanish artists and wild Italian cats alike. The chickens would give them eggs. Garrick was a new friend to them all. The trees rattled in the breeze. The sky was darkening. They washed their hands, their faces. They cleaned the plates and cups the had used. Flickers of light shone through the glass of the candles, moving within shadow upon the dry fountain bed and attracting moths that fluttered around adding stranger shadows. Not quite ready to turn in they walked round the back of the folly to climb the ladder and sit up on the roof. They had swept the roof clean and liked the light from the sun in the daytime. A candle or two might make a nice night's parlor, out in the night watching the stars. Masses more stars than either of them had even seen. No man made light dulled them here. The night sky was blue, not the black darkness of Paris or even Cornwall. Star lit blue with a haze of masses of stars in an endless path to the galaxies the eye could not see. Ross could see the edge of the meadow as night fell. The stars were so lovely. A flash of green light caught his eye. Another. "Sweetness! Look at that!" She stepped forward holding a tall votive candle and gasped. Garrick bound forward in a sense of adventure. The meadow beyond was being illuminated by fireflies. They bobbled about in the air, twenty, sixty, hundreds. They came forward from the woods and began to hover and play in the nighttime meadow as the Poldarks had done in the day. "Oh... How beautiful!" sighed Dem. With care, for it was dark. They scaled the ladder and Dem sat on the roof first. Ross left the candle he was holding on the roof and brought matches and another up. In the candlelight, near the bulbous decoration of the Persian looking dome Ross held Dem in quiet companionship, up on the roof, and awe as they watched the light of thousands of fireflies darting over the meadow in a private concert of light and sparks that hypnotized somewhat. Ross, dangled a foot over the roof's edge. Lay a lazy leg over the side of the roof with his wife in his arms. Dem curled close to her husband. His heart beat near her ear. She stared at the stars over the black ridge of the trees in the distance. She watched the fireflies play in the meadow. Ross' heart a gentle song to hear as the evening passed into night. The night was lit by insects, teasing and playing and loving as they seduced their mates and enjoyed each other's charms. This basic reason brought forth in their winking lights, that which was common among insects, among animals, among two newlyweds that sat content together on this calm spring night.

Garrick's silhouette could just be seen in the scattered green/yellow lights darting everywhere and he came to curl up by the ladder at the wall. Safe near his new friends who made the days so happy for him after so many hard times on the street trying to live and stay safe among humans that enjoyed bringing him harm. Garrick could sense that these humans had a greater sympathy. They saw his distress and helped him. Garrick had little cause to trust two legged creatures. He trusted these two though. They called him 'Garrick'. His name was 'Garrick'. That was nice. Having lived only as himself, having a name of his own made him feel very distinguished. The humans spoke to him by name and seemed happy to have his approval of it. The male, 'Ross', the female, a confusion over just what, _exactly,_ her name was. Garrick heard the boy call her different names and she responded to all of them. He would pay more attention tomorrow. She was jolly fun and spoke like a puppy sometimes, just like a pup learning to yap, so sweet! Garrick felt it was only right to know her name. They were his friends. Garrick yawned and settled himself to sleep. Tabitha Bethia skittered past to go inside. Garrick opened one eye to watch her disappear around the corner. She was elusive, as cats often were. She would watch him from different vantage points, sizing him up perhaps but not antagonistic. She was polite. The cat did not seem to mind his arrival. Garrick closed his eye curled by the ladder for his friends were nearby. Curled by the wall for he knew he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, The Police 1981
> 
> Though I've tried before to tell her  
> Of the feelings I have for her in my heart  
> Every time that I come near her  
> I just lose my nerve as I've done from the start
> 
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Everything she do just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on
> 
> Do I have to tell the story  
> Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?  
> It's a big enough umbrella  
> But it's always me that ends up getting wet
> 
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Everything she do just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on
> 
> I resolved to call her up  
> A thousand times a day  
> Ask her if she'll marry me  
> In some old fashioned way
> 
> But my silent fears have gripped me  
> Long before I reach the phone  
> Long before my tongue has tripped me  
> Must I always be alone
> 
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Everything she do just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on
> 
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Everything she does just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on
> 
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Every little, every little, every little, every little  
> Every little thing she does is magic  
> Every little thing she does is magic
> 
> Everything she does just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on
> 
> Everything she does just turns me on  
> Even though my life before was tragic  
> Now I know my love for her goes on and on.
> 
> Hit another gap. Still writing...


	62. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A-milking

The morning was bright enough to wake them. Some ancient compatibility between morning's light and the sleeping brain woke them both. A scurrying beneath them was heard as Tabitha Bethia had already made her rounds and procured her breakfast. Ross looked up at the light colored, plastered ceiling of the folly and smiled. The light remained dim in this place but the light of day did enter. It was morning and they would seek to buy an animal to help them. A donkey would do but Ross was hoping to find a horse. The land here had frightening cliffs in some places but there was space enough for a horse to roam and get enough exercise as well as being a bit more elegant as a mode of transport. He imagined leading the horse at the side of the road as he'd seen others do in their trips to town. They had enough funds for a saddle, all the bits and pieces. He could let Dem ride as they went into town. They'd be a sight to sigh over. His pretty wife on a horse... "Dem!" smiled Ross as he turned to face her. "Good morning, Ross!" She was also in a happy excitement over getting a horse or donkey. "We shall go down to the town and get some more supplies," said Ross. "If we are lucky, we will have a four legged someone to help us carry things back!" They smiled their agreement and began the day. They must get more candles, lamps and fuel. They must buy a pan so Garrick had water of his own to drink. They could carry their purchases in the large, galvanized steel buckets that they would buy more of since they were so helpful to them for bringing up water and lead whatever animal the bought back home. It would be a long walk so they made a start. "Good morning, Garrick!" said Demelza. Garrick, over the moon to have a thick, raw, beef bone that Ross got from a butcher for him, barked his good morning as they passed. Ross and Dem were flexible. Sometimes they had no breakfast all to keep hold what money they had. Even when funds were secure Ross and Dem were content to eat simple things upon rising. They both missed the Paris mornings when they had cocoa and croissants with Brose. They ate bread with butter and jam at the growers compound and with Madame Albaret. Their breakfasts when they lived on the streets were catch as catch can. Now they had choice in the matter. Though they were easily bought and stored, Dem was very against porridge oats, having been given porridge every morning in the Home. She wanted a flat pan or a griddle to fry pancakes and would look for one today. Today they ate hard boiled eggs from their generous chickens and bread from the previous night. Having eggs to eat cheered the Poldarks. They would not have to skimp breakfast anymore for the sake of funds. They were self sufficient. They walked to town. Animals and birds seemed to absorb them as part of the surroundings. Dem, cheered by the morning sun, triumphant as the mist lifted all around the valley and walking hand in hand with Ross, she tilted her chin to the bright sky and sang,

One misty moisty morning when cloudy was the weather I met with an old man a-clothed all in leather He was clothed all in leather with a cap beneath his chin Singing how do you do and how do you do and how do you do again

This rustic was a thresher as on his way he hied And with a leather bottle fast buckled by his side He wore no shirt upon his back but wool unto his skin Singing how do you do and how do you do and how do you do again

I went a little further and there I met a maid A-going a-milking, a-milking Sir she said Then I began to compliment and she began to sing Saying how do you do and how do you do and how do you do again

This maid her name was Dolly clothed in a gown of grey I being somewhat jolly persuaded her to stay And straight I fell a-courting her in hopes her love to win Singing how do you do and how do you do and how do you do again

Ross kept time by slapping his thigh and Dem's voice rang out clear in the valley and an echo could be faintly heard as they crossed by sturdy cliffs that trapped her singing and bounced it back to both their delight. People with vehicles drove by on the road. Some even offered a lift but the Poldarks politely declined. After their escape from Marseilles, Ross and Dem were more cautious over strangers offering aid. The walked along and after a while the town came into view. "I guess we should buy things first and look at the animals last of all..." mused Ross. Dem thought about this. "No. We'd be dragging the shopping around and not have our hands free..." Ross blinked the surprise of not seeing it that way himself. Considering getting the the horse or donkey home rather than how they were going to choose the animal. Being encumbered with pails full of candles and things would be a nuisance. He often wondered why he so often did not think things to their conclusions from the first, often cursed himself for not thinking more than one move ahead. Dem was better at that sort of thinking. "Yes, I see what you mean." smiled Ross with a bashful chuckle. "Livestock yard first!" And they continued on their way.

The yard was vast. Ross and Dem looked at the rabbits and geese, the chicken area where they had previously bought three hens and across the enclosed space where the larger animals were. Ross wanted a horse but a twist of fate delayed that purchase. As they walked to the horses they were passed by a man driving cows forward. Dem kept forward, to get to the horses but Ross found himself distracted by the cows. Jud often mentioned that cows were better 'milked clean' before they were driven to pasture. That one should not let a cow walk about before her milking. A farmer was walking a cow forward with her udders full. Ross walked, somewhat led by Dem for they were holding hands. Dem felt Ross slow and turned her head to see him staring at a cow. "What is it?" asked Dem. Ross frowned. "That cow looks miserable." Dem looked on. Dem was not a farmgirl but even she could see, from behind as the cow walked, the cow needed to be drained. The other cows were not engorged. Demelza looked at Ross look at the cow. She could see wheels turning in her husband's mind but to what end was a mystery to her. They were on their way to buy a horse. "Sir! Signore!" Ross raised his voice to catch the farmer's attention. The farmer turned. Dem stood and waited watching Ross walk forward to look at the cow. Ross pointed at the cows udders. "Why do you not milk her?" said Ross. The farmer did not speak English but someone near by translated what Ross asked, looking askance at the cow's udders too. The farmer waved an indifferent hand in the cows direction. He spoke in annoyance and the man told Ross what the farmer said. "He says she won't calve again and will be dry soon anyway. He's going to sell her to the knackers. It doesn't pay to waste feed on her. He didn't milk her because she'll be dead soon. The knackers will deal with it." Ross' eyes widened. It seemed harsh to leave her engorged and the farmer seemed to have no affection for her. He turned to Dem. "Should we have a cow, Dem? If she can't bear anymore calves she won't produce as much milk. But we wouldn't need a lot... She wouldn't produce after a time but she would make enough for the two of us." Ross was becoming more excited by this idea as he spoke. "If we bought her we could have milk and cream!" Dem considered this. "There are two stables..." mused Dem. She looked at the cow. She looked at Ross. Ross was drawn to the animal. The discomfort the cow was in bothered him, the farmer's disinterest in keeping her alive offended him. And they could have milk without having to go into town. "We'd have to come back for a horse?" asked Dem. Ross nodded. "We can come back to look at the horses, we'll have to walk them up to the house. It is safer one at a time." Dem nodded. "Yes, Ross. It's a good idea." Through translation Ross was told that the cow was not diseased and could be had for a knock down price. The knackers never paid high and the farmer was just as happy to sell it to them. Ross paid the farmer and gave the man who translated a bit of money for his help. Dem giggled. "I guess we should go home! We have a new friend!" Ross smiled but still looked concerned over cows udders. "We need milk pails..." They led the cow to the exit of the livestock grounds and Ross gave Dem money to go back where farm goods were sold for the smaller milk pails. They weren't ridged on the sides the way the water pails they used were. It was important that they not get mixed up. Water, chore and milk pails must serve their own functions. Ross walked the cow further from the yard and waited for Dem. "Don't worry, my girl. We'll sort you out very soon!" The cow blinked her soft dark eyes as if she understood. Maybe she did, thought Ross. The cow seemed sad, from the discomfort of having her udders overfull and as if it knew the farmer had given up on her being useful. Dem returned carrying four milk pails nested together with a bundle of clean rags. Ross thought about watching Jud milking when they still had Lovely at Nampara. Thought about the times he was allowed to, young and not as adept. Jud showed him the right way but he had not been fast. He thought about how effortless Jud's milking looked and suspected it would take time to be as quick as Jud. The cow needed relief so he came away further, where grass and scrub would not suffer from it and knelt to start milking her. Dem stood holding the rope at her neck as she lowed an unhappy moo. Dem stroked her head. "Didn't I sing of a milk maid!" Ross chuckled. "Yes, though I didn't expect to be a milkman!" Ross did not use the pails, simply let the milk fall to the grass. They could not get her home with her udders full and milk lying idle in her could cause an infection if left undrained. "One misty moisty morning when cloudy was the weather..." Dem sang to the cow, keeping close and whispering, stroking the cow's head. Rivlets of milk were draining into a puddle on the grass that slid down into a waste area of scrub grass. The veins that protruded around the udders in an painful looking manner subsided. "Did you have cows Ross?" asked Dem impressed that he had milked her. "I didn't milk her very much but yes. Her name was Lovely. Jud looked after her and let me help sometimes. Mama milked too, sometimes..." Ross did not continue explaining. He stood and walked to stand by Dem. He looked at the cow, stroked her head as Dem was doing. "You will come home with us!“ Ross told the cow. “We have a stable for you and there's plenty of grass!" The cow blinked. Dem was charmed the watch Ross speak to the cow as if it could understand him. She was the color of butterscotch, tan with dark eyes that one had to look at closely to see the were brown. She was gentle and, having been done a good turn by the Poldarks, seemed happy to be their friend. Ross and Dem smiled at each other. Ross’ impulse to purchase the cow was unexpected by both of them. “Let’s go home.” said Dem. They had a great deal of pleasure in the novelty of saying, “let’s go home”. A warm sense of intimacy and happiness came over the Poldarks to know they had a place to call theirs, a roof over their head. Ross smiled until his eyes crinkled and they smiled nose to nose. Dem kissed his nose, causing him to giggle. The cow looked between them. These two were gentle and reminded her of her previous owner’s children. Can a cow be owned by children? She decided it must be so. They were taking her somewhere that made them happy. That was a fortunate thing. She watched them press their mouths together. A greeting. The male emptied her udders. That was nice of him... It was only right to say thank you... When in Rome... The cow nudged her head forward and smushed her mouth at Ross’ face. He scrunched his face, laughing. The scent of grass on her breath and the ‘clean’ sort of smell of well tended animals, not clean at all really but pleasant. Earthy. She had not been mistreated for all she had been headed to the knackers yard, and the wet press of saliva was not unpleasant but it was unexpected. Dem laughed merrily. “She kissed you!” Ross petted the cow’s head. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Ross felt it was only right to return the affection. Dem looked admiringly at them. Ross had a knack for happening upon new friends. He held the rope around the cow’s neck but did not pull it like a lead. Ross walked along side with the end of the rope gathered in his hand, resting at her neck. “Walk on, girl, come on!” He said cheerfully.

They made a strange procession. Livestock was commonly seen at the side of the road but not driven forward by two obviously foreign, young hippies. Dem in her long denim skirt and bright red hair, Ross’ blue jeans and long, dark hair, their skinny arms in their tee shirts and denim clad legs made them a curious sight next to the cow. They had a new cow, milk pails, clean rags to wipe clean the cow’s udders and Dem also purchased two enameled saucepans and an iron skillet. They looked more like traveling tinkers today than any other time. The walk through the valley, up the cliff was slow. They were in no hurry and the cow was obediently walking along with them and not made nervous by the climb. Dem watched Ross walk along. Ross was humming half to himself and half to the cow. He had mentioned his mother milked a cow called Lovely. Dem thought it sweet, a sentimental name for a cow and a memory of his mother that he mentioned off hand in one way, deeply effected by memory in another. They walked on. The sun was bright and Dem distracted herself from thinking of Ross by resolving to look for a brimmed straw hat when they next went to town. She watched Ross and the cow once more. When they lived with Brose sometimes Ross would murmur as he woke. Sleepy and mixing up his surroundings. Having a soft bed instead of sleeping rough might have brought the memories forward. He never mistook her for family when they slept out on the street. Something about safety and a warm bed cast his mind back to childhood with his parents and brother. He spoke sleepily as if she was his brother, tell her to stay in bed for Mama was not awake yet, or he would tell her Prudie would make fairy cakes later in the day. He spoke like a big brother to his little brother in an authority of being older in an affectionate way. It was never a scold to remain in bed. A gentle reminder, helping his brother to grow and be a good boy. He was happy when he would say these things. They were not like his nightmares, dreams that jumbled up all his fears and made him wake with his heart beating too fast and afraid. These early morning murmurs were like blessings, happy remembrances that faded upon day. He was too drowsy to remember these things when he woke. She knew Ross missed his family, missed his mother and brother, both passed away. Missed his father and the Paynters. Ross had no regrets over his vagabond life. He had love for his family. It made Ross so good hearted and generous. It gave him the fortitude to make the most of the life he chose. It made him value people and want to be friends with people when he had often been shown the dark sides of others on the street. He mentioned them as off hand as any other street rat. Scrapes with adults who sought to harm. He had tales from before he met her. They dodged peril on the street together, their abduction in Marseilles as the most dangerous example. Ross had disagreements with his father, it seemed, but his father had not been like her Pa, not mean or hurtful. Dem thought it interesting that Ross left home. He didn’t mind life on the road perhaps in part because he knew he had that love from his family at his back. Dem had been frightened all the time. Frightened of Pa’s beatings, frightened to get into trouble. Ross persuaded her to come with him to France and made her see she could be that free, she could make that choice, she could set aside her fear and be brave. He was good at that, sharing his way of looking at the world. Ross was happy to share his attitudes of life because had faith from being loved, valuing friends and optimism that much more in his loss of his mother and little Claude... Dem did not feel sadness for Ross when he sometimes called her Claude in his sleep. She felt very, very honored...

“Here we are!” said Ross to the cow with not a little pride. He turned to Dem. “She can graze awhile. We cleaned both stables but we need to lay more hay on the floor before we can put her there...” Dem nodded. “I’ll put the pans inside and we’ll make a start!” They greeted Garrick, Tabitha Bethia was on her own ramble. They were amused to wonder what she would make of their newest addition to the household. The cat absorbed Garrick well enough. They lay more clean hay in the stable, resolved to cut more and get some flypaper too. The cow had room to graze away from the meadow and the hayfield. The horse, for they had both determined it would be a horse now (no donkeys, thank you very much) would have freedom to graze and exercise as well. They had a little house and a wonderful amount of land to keep their animals. They would live on the land with a cat and a dog and three chickens and a cow. A horse too! They worked and made all ready for their new friend. They stripped off and washed in the river. The day turned to evening and they had a good meal of cooked pasta mixed with tomato sauce with bread to tidy the plates and not miss a tasty bite of any of it. They had a fire pit, a little ways from the house, where they boiled water and left it to cool. They boiled some more for the cow to drink in the morning. “I guess we should get another grate,” thought Ross. They would need water for two animals now. The buckets sat over the fire on a clever metal grate, with feet that raised them off the ground, that they bought in town. The Poldarks, so used to traveling light, felt a little consternation at this. Once you had things, it seemed one needed more things to support the other things. But they had a proper home now. One must be a good steward of possessions especially when they are living creatures and they rely on you for being looked after. The crest of sky over the trees was darkening. The day was done and they would greet the morning with fresh milk and cream. Dem yawned. Stretched. Ross admired her long limbs and leggy grace. “You must name her...” said Dem. Ross smiled. “Me?” “Yes!” laughed Dem. “She’s smitten with you, and you with her! It was love at first sight!” teased Dem. Ross took Dem in his arms, quickly, and pressed kisses all over Dem’s face as she laughed too much to reciprocate. “Ross!” A failure of a scolding. He looked into her face happily. “I saw a girl once in a garden once. I didn’t know it was love at first sight then but I suspect it was!” Dem hugged him. “I was in a garden once. A boy enticed me away...” she stepped back, warm, loving, smiling into Ross' eyes.

“He was quite like you.” said Dem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Led Zeppelin 1969
> 
> If the sun refused to shine  
> I would still be loving you  
> When mountains crumble to the sea  
> There will still be you and me  
> Kind woman, I give you my all  
> Kind woman, nothing more  
> Little drops of rain whisper of the pain  
> Tears of loves lost in the days gone by  
> My love is strong, with you there is no wrong  
> Together we shall go until we die  
> My, my, my inspiration is what you are to me  
> Inspiration look, see  
> And so today, my world it smiles  
> Your hand in mine, we walk the miles  
> Thanks to you it will be done  
> For you to me are the only one  
> Happiness, no more be sad  
> Happiness, I'm glad  
> If the sun refused to shine  
> I would still be loving you  
> Mountains crumble to the sea  
> There will still be you and me
> 
> When in Rome: “when in Rome, do as Romans do” follow the customs one sees if the culture is foreign to you. Yet to be named, this cow decides to kiss Ross as she sees Dem do to thank him for draining her milk.
> 
> More to come... Still writing...


	63. S-s-s-single Bed(Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feathering the nest

Tabitha Bethia accepted Desdemona, the cow, with good grace. Garrick made a point of visiting her in her stables since the chicken coop was nearby and in this way felt he assisted Ross and Sweetness in looking after their charges. Desdemona, if one was adept at reading the mood and manner of cows, was content to be in this pretty valley. She was milked by 'Ross', a kindly boy who also taught the girl to milk with success. The shifting changing of address to the girl was baffling. She understood herself to be 'Desdemona' but the girl's name changed by the hour! A pattern was forming. 'Dem' floated to the top of the raft of names the boy called the girl. Clarification was difficult for these humans did not speak Italian. Human words she had come to understand were not part of the children's talk. She still thought of them as children, so like the young humans at her previous farm. Desdemona could not converse with the other animals because their own language barriers were too stark. The dog spoke frequently but she was at a loss to know what was being said. The cat kept her own counsel in polite friendliness as she snaffled a mouse near her stall now and again. Chickens always talked gibberish to each other. It was nice up here. Ross was conscientious, greeting her in his language each morning, cleaning the stall and her hooves, milking her, wiping her udders clean deftly. He pressed his mouth on her head before leading her to pasture. She came to look forward to this greeting. The girl, Dem, was a quick learner. Good at milking and able to care for chores like the boy but it was Ross she looked forward to seeing each day. His gentle ways and gentle talk; he chattered all manner of things as if she knew what they meant, was very sweet. He had a very four legged attitude for all he was human.  
Christened Desdemona, the cow settled in nicely. Dem began a compost pen which helped manage the dung. It sat at the last edge of meadow, before the woods. Away from the riverside, away from the folly, closer to the field where they cut hay. A bit of a hike from the stable but necessary to keep it away from the homestead proper and avoid smelling it. A sturdy pitchfork had been left in one of the stables and it became the implement to stir the compost. Having the hay field near made it easy to mix more hay into the compost as it was turned. There was enough space around them to deal with the waste of them all without fouling the area around the house and the meadow. They brought glass drink bottles back with them to discard in town. What larger glass jars the Poldarks used were saved to hold the flowers Dem picked on her rambles with Garrick as spring deepened and more blooms of all description grew everywhere. They brightened the house and what plants were beneficial to the compost were utilized so the flowers past their prime were not wasted as new ones replaced them. A job too big for them was getting large amounts timber and supplies necessary to enclose the folly up the valley and constructing the room itself was beyond them if the the chicken coop they devised was an indicator of their architectural skills. Ross, ordered the wood and supplies, requested through translation that it brought up by workmen from the lumber yard and the the extension constructed by men who knew what they were about. This was an expense that drained much of their resources but was money well spent. Ross and Dem could add to the structure knowing the frame was well built and correct. They could not hope to build it themselves in a sensible amount of time and haul water and look after the garden and animals. It went up quickly for nine men made short work of it. It helped their relationship to the townspeople. The workmen vouched for them, overheard in their talk by shopkeepers as they spent the wages the Poldarks paid them. They were strange looking youngsters but fair about payment and offered lemonade, bread and hard boiled eggs to eat as they toiled. Quiet, polite and happy to live in an abandoned lodge with a cow and not cause trouble. The frame was built properly with a roof that was sound. They had wood enough to complete the inner walls and make improvements to the chick coop. Plaster, applied to the outside walls, also completed with hired help, helped the outside to match the original part of the folly. It had no windows to conserve the heat from the stove but there was a small vent for air, with a patch of flyscreen tacked down across it, by the roof and the folly had three windows in the original part with shutters in good condition that let air and light in. The interior was dim compared to modern living. Candles were employed in the day and the night. Ross and Dem spent a great deal of their money on getting the folly enclosed with only five years to have ownership of it but they were content. Someone else might find shelter there and benefit from their improvements the way they had the happiness of someone leaving the dishes, the record player and what furniture had survived. This place might shelter someone else after they had left. They did not need fancy things. Ross and Dem wanted to spend what was left of their money wisely. They needed a horse. They would buy a horse. They wanted a bed to sleep on. They would buy a bed. They could not have one without the other. To get a bed up the cliff was beyond them without a horse to help them with it and other bulky purchases. Though they did spend funds on equipment to help their chores, sheets, towels, cushions, the stuff of life, and splurging on a Madonna statue of the highest quality, hand made from start to finish, much of what furnished their house they had already or happened upon in their travels for not much money. An abandoned theater provided a grand, blue velvet curtain. It was perfect to secret the area where a bed would be from the rest of the little house. The flowers grew all round for the taking and their pastimes of drawing, reading poetry and playing music gave them happiness in the quiet parts of their day not taken up with chores. They had new shoes. Ross had a striking pair of black leather boots that he kept for best and Dem had dark blue ballet flats that complemented her light blue dress. They looked after their garden that grew strong. Ross learned about plants and gardening chores. Dem learned how to milk a cow and stable chores. Ross chopped and split logs for firewood. Dem gathered fallen wood and sticks that were useful. They both hauled water up the hill of the meadow. They cut and stacked hay. They tended fires, to heat water, to wash dishes, wash up the house and themselves, to boil it clean to drink in the larger quantities the animals needed. The stove worked well and Dem magicked all manner of delicious meals with it. They had vegetables, eggs and milk of their own. They had supplies from town like flour and spices, honey, tea and sugar. They ate well and consistently in a way that evaded them in their streetlife in France when the state of their funds dictated what could and couldn't be had. Life was good. They worked each day and snuggled together on the daybed each night. If they had a proper bed, the daybed could become a sofa alone. This was what they wanted. A retreat at the end of the night that they didn't have to clear books off of each night. A place to lay their heads and make love and sleep the sleep of the just.

They went to the livestock yard and, as before, Dem led Ross by the hand to the field where horses and donkeys were kept for sale. Ross was the buyer as he knew more about horses than Dem did but she was excited to have a horse and learn to ride and have a way to bring more useful items up to the folly. She led the way, nearly skipping at the thought. They would buy a bed right after, today, and bring it back with them. They spent the past few days purchasing items in anticipation of this excursion. They bought tack, a big sack of feed oats and a new trough to give the horse. Desdemona was given the existing one. They bought more colorful bedspreads and sheets and a washtub to clean them in. They brought up more groceries; oil, pasta, fruit (Ross was adamant that grapes be purchased. He was determined to eat and feed Dem grapes in the altogether and loll about in bed like sultans, a daydream of decadence that pleased him to indulge in reality)and food for Garrick. Once they secured their horse and their bed the Poldarks were more than ready not to leave their homestead for _days_. A new bed was an acquisition that deserved lengthy perusal to appreciate it fully, it was only fitty.

Of the nine horses on offer, the Poldarks, even as they approached the grounds and before they could look more closely, were drawn to a dark brown horse tethered among its fellows. A broad white stripe went down the length of his head, forelock to nose and it was clearly a strong, healthy specimen. Ross suspected it would be the most costly. In this he was correct on top of the language barrier making haggling the price, a give and take common in horse buying, difficult. Dem clutched Ross' arm in excitement at the prospect of owning the prettiest horse in the group. Ross, satisfied it could bear the sort of draftswork they would need from it, would not disappoint his wife if it could be helped. A horse and a bed. If it took the last of their money so be it. The Poldarks made their Maxim's funds work for them well. The folly was enclosed with only a little more work to be done on it and they had the tools and equipment they needed to live well on their homestead. If the last of the money secured their last two wished for items then every penny was well spent. They lived on next to nothing for years, they could do so again. Ross squired Dem on his arm and bought the horse with the hint of machismo the men in this yard expected, because he was male, because he was "just a boy", foreign and long haired at that. He was no nonsense and sought to behave as the men expected. Inwardly, Ross was just as giddy as Demelza. Ross was chuffed to step right up and buy the best horse of the lot, well shod, healthy and a true beauty. And not so draining on their purse. In England Ross would expect a horse of this quality to go for hundreds more but the pace of life in Italy, the needs of folk around here were more laid back and informal. No one was looking for a flashy beast to remain out of reach and unsold, they needed their animals to sell. A pragmatic attitude on behalf of the sellers. Priced to move. In a blink they had a beautiful horse, a saddle, two wool horse blankets, a leather saddle bag as dark colored as the horse and a curry comb from adjoining stalls. Dem led the horse forward like a queen and Ross walked along side wishing Papa, Jud and Prudie could have seen them in their triumph, walking at either side of a real winner; healthy teeth, strong, no nicks or injury on his hide, elegance that glowed from him as he walked. Their horse. "Sweetness!" smiled Ross. "You will be as pretty as a princess on this fellow!" She grinned. "You'll be like a handsome prince! Oh Ross! I can't hardly believe it! Our own horse!" Ross gave a sly glance. "We must put him to the test..."

And put him to the test they did. The saddle and blankets cushioned the horse's back. By binding and tying up the metal bedframe in long, straight pieces and balancing the mattress across with the saddle bags lying flat on top of it all, Ross, Dem and the horse walked along the side of the road with the mattress and frame pieces teetering between the Poldarks at either side of the horse's back. There was a rope around the mattress for Ross to keep hold of and Dem held a rope that bound the frame pieces. It was a slow process. Ross was happy to see the horse unfazed by the work and they went slowly. It would be a joy to exercise him. It would be a tremendous joy to watch Dem ride him. The green of the trees and the stark beauty of the cliffs around them, the slow procession of their own little bed, a happiness in knowing they had all they wanted put a brief lump in Ross' throat. A swell of gratitude for things going right for a change, the sort of happiness that threatens to tip into tears, though he did not cry. Ross breathed a sigh of gratitude and relief. They had a home, safe and tucked away in a gorgeous valley. They had each other and a quiet life, off the street and back to the land. They would live happily here and be snug, with a roof over their heads in the winter... With his dearest friend, his loving wife... They approached the whitewashed wall. With care they removed the bed pieces and carried the mattress into the house. They brought in the parts of the frame and laid it on the floor with some difficulty since Garrick seemed to appear here and there like a jack in the box popping out and pacing around them, sniffing the metal pieces in curiosity and trying to sniff them both now that the scent of horse had been introduced to the household. Tabitha Bethia sat on the daybed watching the proceedings. Giggling scolds and a clank of metal. The humans were very sweet, they were affectionate and did not get in the way. They made it quite pleasant in here even if they did close up the entrance. They were nice and let her be. It was a pleasant addition to the place, two humans... Ross went back out to rub the horse down and let him graze. Dem had soaked a mash of oats and the horse would have that as his dinner. Clean water was ready and waiting in a brand new trough. The horse looked around. Further on a cow was grazing. They were the only hooved beasts here it seemed. The surroundings were vast and beautiful. It wasn't like any sort of place he lived in before. The boy returned. In truth, when he saw the children he hoped to go with them. He imagined a horse farm and an indulgent human that looked after them and would look after him. There were no grown humans. Just the children and a wild area of paradise with grazing aplenty and a modest stable. Interesting. The boy returned. He performed the regular care the horse had come to expect and chatted affably in a language he did not recognize. He was bright eyed and as cute as a foal. The girl was like a butterfly. Brightly colored and ever moving. Going to and fro, returning to the boy the way a butterfly alights upon a flower. They were happy to see each other and friendly. This would be a nice place. Freedom under an endless sky and two young humans who made a point of looking after him well. He nodded a greeting to the cow who nodded back from her vantage point. Space enough for them all. The dog was a bit of a clown but gentle and respectful of his space. There were chickens about. Very peaceful. A river could be heard nearby. Very calming. It was nice here. They tended their new horse. They cleaned Desdemona's stable and Dem got some weeding in as well as gathering squash blossoms and young onions to cook for dinner. They hauled more water and boiled the stable linens clean, scalded the milk pail as well as boiling water to cool for the animals to drink. Dem forked over more hay in the compost pen. Ross cut more hay for the stables. They swept the courtyard and fountain bed clean. They tended the hens. Ross checked the horse's hooves, making sure his shoes were on and checking for debris or pebbles to remove, and brought him into his new home. Dem led Desdemona back to the stable and Ross looked after her there, pouring new water for her and making sure all was clean and well. Ross and Dem took time to admire their new horse in his stable with pride before continuing their chores. They washed their clothes, hung them all on a proper clothes line they strung between to trees with wooden pegs and sang as they worked. That completed, they washed themselves in the river. They swam rather than stood about washing for the buoyancy made their tired limbs feel better and they came away clean in the end. They dried themselves off with new towels, a towel for each of them, and hung them to dry too. The day was fading. Their intention to put the bed together right away became ground down under all the chores they had to catch up with. Dem made a milk pudding flavored with vanilla essence and intended for afters but the Poldarks were so tired they washed their feet and faces, ate pudding for supper and collapsed on the daybed in instantaneous sleep. Garrick sniffed at the bed pieces at the far side of the room then came away, sitting content on the floor by the shelf where Tabitha Bethia watched their friends lying immobile with interest. They were asleep. These humans had an ongoing heat. Animals were not as oversexed as these two humans seemed to be. Nature dictates these things more seasonally, more sensibly, for animals. The poor things seemed to have knocked themselves out from overwork before they were able to perform their customary mating dance. A bizarre spectacle of rubbing their mouths on each other's flesh in an ineffective attempt at cleaning, loud dominance play in which the female seemed evenly matched and then wriggling upon each other with loud exclamations. Not a sophisticated coupling, not like cats or even dogs if Tabitha Bethia chose to be generous to Garrick's ilk. She liked to think it was the beneficial influence of herself and the dog upon them when the humans occasionally mated in the correct, more dignified looking configuration of the male presenting himself behind the female. It was a marked improvement but they fell back into human sloppiness more often than not. She shared a knowing look with the dog, the day was done. Time to sleep. She looked the humans over once more. The boy and girl were out like a light, likely asleep until morning. The dog had closed his eyes, nearly asleep himself. Tabitha Bethia turned round, to get comfortable, and settled to sleep herself. They were only young, thought the cat. There was time, the humans might yet learn to mate in a consistent, respectible manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S-s-s-single Bed, Fox 1976
> 
> C-c-c-come,  
> Come inside,  
> Oh I've been expecting  
> You here tonight
> 
> Sh-sh-sh-shoes  
> Shake 'em off  
> While I go and turn  
> The music down soft
> 
> Oh but all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> Ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> P-p-p-pour  
> Out your wine  
> And we could explore  
> Each others minds
> 
> T-t-t-time  
> Don't it fly?  
> When the pleasures of night  
> Are reachin' so high
> 
> Oh but all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> (Da da da da da daaa,  
> Baby don't cry  
> Bye bye baby  
> Bye Bye Bye
> 
> Doo doo doo doop  
> Doop doo doop doo  
> Doop doo doop doo  
> Doo doo doop dee doo  
> Deh dah dah dah daaahh)
> 
> Oh all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> S-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> Draftswork: hauling objects
> 
> S-s-s-still writing... Back soon...


	64. S-s-s-single Bed(Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesting

The next morning Ross woke to find Dem up already and frying a heavenly smelling omelet with onion and squash blossoms chopped fine, given savor with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, sautéd in olive oil, mixed in with the gently cooking eggs. Bright green basil leaves torn into little shreds dotted the surface. He rolled over rubbing his eyes to look at her. Standing at the stove, deftly cooking breakfast, singing under her breath so as not to wake him unduly. She wore her jeans today and the pink tee shirt he had come to like very much. "Good morning, Sweetness," said Ross stretching with a yawn. She grinned. He was stretching along the daybed and watching him wake, eyes brightening, becoming alert was nice. "Morning!" she said cheerfully splitting the omelet in half, sliding them on plates. "That smells wonderful, Dem!" She laughed a little. "We were meant to have this veg last night..." Ross laughed. "Pudding for supper is probably sinful but I won't tell if you won't!" They shared a smile. "Deal!" said Dem. "It's ready when you are and then we'll get the chores sorted. I want to sleep in the bed tonight!" Ross got up and on his way out to relieve himself whispered cheekily, "I want to not sleep in the bed tonight!" The look they exchanged was very suggestive.

The sunlight was just starting to color the sky. Ross greeted Garrick who was already running around the meadow chasing rabbits. Ross kept dithering over whether to leave snares about. They did eat rabbits caught at Nampara but Ross wasn’t enthusiastic about skinning them. He went into the woods, considering his relationship to meat. Ross and Dem both enjoyed meat, ate it with no qualms when it was already butchered or prepared. Ross was distressed to skin animals himself. Being confronted with separating the fur from the flesh bothered Ross in a way that plucking chickens of their feathers or gathering eggs did not. He wasn’t sure if it was hypocritical to flinch from butchery but like eating animals. He certainly wouldn’t say no to a rabbit stew! He set that thought aside. He urinated and made his way back to the folly. Gave his hands a wash in the basin by the fire pit. They would reverse the day. Put the bed frame together first and then do the chores. Give all that needed attention it’s due first and spend the coming days as much of a marital holiday as they could contrive. The animals needed care. There were certain chores like bringing water up the hill that could not be overlooked, even for a day. It was not an easy life Ross and Dem chose for themselves up here but they were equal to the task. When they came to Italy on the boat they had a hallucinatory marathon of endless lovemaking. Early on, when it was just Tabitha Bethia, an independent creature, and only themselves to please the chores were light and flexible. They spent long sessions of idle time in the daybed. Now they had a real bed but their ardor must be made to fit into their days. Perhaps that’s why grown ups often sleep together at night, the only stretch of time one could commit to it... Ross sighed. They had been kids on the street. They must put childish notions away and be proper, responsible grown ups. He would feed Dem grapes though...

They ate the scrumptious omelet. After wielding a screwdriver in various joints of the metal slats and with bright smiles of satisfaction, the fit the mattress upon the frame. It was supported on a wooden pallet they fitted inside the frame and built themselves. A proper box spring intended for underneath this mattress was too heavy and bulky, could not be brought on Seamus’ back. This suited thought. It was sturdy and they were both quite thin so all was well. They dressed the bed with proper sheets and lay another colorful tapestry on top. They had pillows for their heads and an aching temptation to muss the tidiness of the bed at once but the work of the day called. Seamus must have exercise, Desdemona must be milked. Both left to graze and brought back. Their stalls needed cleaning. The chickens needed tending. The water would not haul itself. More hay cut. What was dry on the clothesline must be brought down and put away. What was soiled must be washed and hung to dry once more. The fire must be stoked for the scalding of buckets and boiling of water. They made a point of not needing to go to town for a while, one less chore removed on purpose. They laid in provisions to stay a spell in the valley. A new bed was a sort of holiday and they were determined to celebrate it however much the homestead demanded attention.

Ross was not in the habit of sitting nude with his guitar but Dem lay among the pillows so beautiful and in such a louche sort of way, draped among the pillows, eyes shaded by lust, eyes brightened by love, Ross was inspired to convey his love for her in song, he sought to serenade his wife. Ross sat opposite, him at the foot of the bed hair rumpled and smiling as he sang, Dem lay soft limbed and pretty at its head, watching him intently. Their legs splayed in a provocative tangle, Dem’s foot lying quite near Ross’ groin in a teasing sort of way beneath the guitar. Tucked near, immobile. Warm at the joint where his leg became thigh, a teasing acknowledgement that she could choose to excite him or not. A truce at the moment, her pretty toes sunk in a warmth of dark hair and a soft cushion of Ross' genitals, now tame. She watched Ross, nude and beautiful, playing his guitar with the nipples on his chest winking over it’s top, his hands strumming and undulating up and down the instrument’s neck. A besotted dreamy look on his face as he sang to her. They had hard times together. They literally confronted the prospect of death together in Marseilles. They had, together and apart, sadness. Dem was the victim of her father’s cruelty. Ross’ bereavement in the loss of his mother and brother clashed badly with that of his father; they both acted out and grew apart, became antagonistic rather than supportive. That stubbornness so endemic to the Poldarks had hardened battle lines between them and Ross, so angry and fatalistic, fell afoul of the law in his rebellion. There had been so much that was difficult and sorrow making in their young lives. They achieved a moment of true satisfaction and calm. A shelter. They found shelter in each other as well as the valley around them. As Ross sang love into Demelza’s eyes. As Dem’s eyes softened in admiration of her man. They fed each other grapes. They passed into a delirium from hours and hours of kisses and caresses of the giving and receiving of love in balanced, equal measure. They tasted every inch of each other, pleasured the other and cried out their enjoyment of it unabashed and free. They felt free. They wandered through Europe searching for that freedom, found snatches of it here, there. Grew up together and left that life. Began a new one tucked away in a gorgeous parcel of wild canyon, cradled in the beauty of Italy and given peace here. Freedom to love, freedom from fear, freedom to lose themselves in each other’s love and know that the love was real. Ross and Dem fell upon their little bed in a potent sort of magic ritual. The space between them erased and the bed blessed and consecrated. The guitar set to the side on the floor. A handsome prince and a beautiful princess, laying among a riot of colorful bed linens. To join, at the mouth, at the secret places where their bodies fit key to lock, hand in glove, soft glans and hard. Fairy tale children, striped bare. The enchanted pair who shed their magical disguise. A girl in a blue pinafore. A boy in school shoes and a guitar. Two boys on the road, through Hell or high water, through thick and thin. A boy with hair like a girl, a girl who looked like a boy. A pair of urchins. Two homeless buskers with stars on their fingers and rings round their necks. Homeless no longer. They were home. Amidst their reverie, in a waking dream of endless pleasure, Ross dares to dream that they were free. A plan forms in a faraway place, apart from the pleasure at hand, a dream in his head that takes shape quite naturally, forming itself rather than him thinking it front of mind. It’s own chime like a bell clap reverberating it’s truth across the land. He would claim his bride in truth. They would winter in this beautiful place and, come spring, he’d take Dem’s ring from it’s chain, repeat his vow once more and place it on her finger. Pledge his love to Sweetness, not fearing anything or anyone. They were home and he would wear his ring on his finger for all the world to know that Demelza Carne Poldark was his lawfully wedded wife and he her loving husband. Love. So much love...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S-s-s-single Bed, Fox 1976
> 
> C-c-c-come,  
> Come inside,  
> Oh I've been expecting  
> You here tonight
> 
> Sh-sh-sh-shoes  
> Shake 'em off  
> While I go and turn  
> The music down soft
> 
> Oh but all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> Ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> P-p-p-pour  
> Out your wine  
> And we could explore  
> Each others minds
> 
> T-t-t-time  
> Don't it fly?  
> When the pleasures of night  
> Are reachin' so high
> 
> Oh but all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> (Da da da da da daaa,  
> Baby don't cry  
> Bye bye baby  
> Bye Bye Bye
> 
> Doo doo doo doop  
> Doop doo doop doo  
> Doop doo doop doo  
> Doo doo doop dee doo  
> Deh dah dah dah daaahh)
> 
> Oh all I got  
> Is a s-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head  
> Now ain't it a shame  
> You missed the last train  
> Coz all I got is a  
> S-single bed
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> There ain't no room  
> For your sweet head
> 
> S-s-s-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> S-single bed  
> S-single bed  
> I got a one solitary  
> Lonesome  
> Single Bed
> 
> S-s-s-still writing... :)


	65. Begin the Beguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 78 rpm

Ross and Dem enjoyed music. As buskers they earned their daily bread with it. Ross played his guitar. Dem sang. They often sang together as they worked at chores, as they waited to dry off a bit after a swim, as they made a happy life together in their wild canyon. They listened to the other sing with admiration and a dreamy contentment. Ross floating off on a happy cloud as his Sweetness sang of a love he knew they shared. Dem in a sparkle eyed happiness for Ross often chose songs of praise for a lovely girl Dem knew to be herself as he sang other people's words of love with a teasing and sweet suggestion that he meant every word of it to her. Left behind in one of the wardrobes in the folly by someone was a wind up record player with a small tin box full of extra needles and many old records beside it. The songs were old chestnuts of the hit parade in the 1920s, the 1930s. Many were still in brittle, crackled paper sleeves with decorative garlands and grand looking logos printed on them. Ross and Dem, so adept at learning songs soon absorbed them into their repertoire. Because it worked by turning a crank they often brought it out of doors as Dem worked in the garden and Ross tended the animals or chopped more wood, working to be prepared for the winter. As a rest from their labors, sometimes, they danced. They often danced for pleasure in France in the loose, laid back dance halls favored by African immigrants but also a more formal dancing favored by Cubans and Latin Americans. Pairs dancing was just old fashioned enough to fascinate the young rats. Sometimes they practiced for fun in the streets. Because Dem was dressed as a boy most onlookers saw it as humorous, two boys dancing cheek to cheek. Some adults were offended by these layabouts that seemed to have nothing better to do than fool about in the streets, yelled insults at Ross, Dem and the rest of their friends. Some menaced them hissing filthy propositions as they passed. One must take the smooth with the rough on the street. Dem was safer on the street looking like a boy even as boys could be victimized too. She liked the freedom of it, she was part of the gang in truth and it made grown ups believe she was male even when they began to really look at her, started to doubt. The boys were so wild it stood to reason they'd not treat a girl so, they thought. Passersby shook the doubt of her pretty eyes and took her at what they believed to be face value. Up in the valley, away from the eyes of others, Demelza began to dress as a girl again. Ross loved her whatever she wore but her feminine form was so wonderful. She was lean. Strong from hauling water, from toting crates in the Parisian markets. Her fingers were long and elegant. Her breasts, freed from the camouflage of men's shirts, drove Ross to distraction. They were casual about nudity in their homestead, it spared their clothes wear as well as being enjoyable, but Ross found the sight of Demelza in her female clothes even more appealing. Today she wore a tight fitting vest that clung to her accentuating her hips and breasts, a shadow of her nipples could be seen through the green fabric and Ross found himself wanting her in his arms more often. He kept wanting to hold her and one fun way of doing that was to dance.

Dem finished her gardening chores, set the basket of vegetables inside and went over to the bucket left at the back of the folly to fill a shallow basin with water and clean herself up. She came back from washing her hands to the fountain bed and went to wind up the record player again. She began to turn the crank and realized with a start that Begin The Beguine, the record she'd left there had been changed by Ross to You're The Cream In My Coffee. He came up behind her, put her arms around her and she giggled at his nuzzling and nipping at her neck at her ears. Rubbing his face near hers and liking her scent, her scent of sun and plants and Dem, pressing his nose by her sweet smelling cheek. She laughed heartily. "Am I a dandelion to be snuffed over?" She turned in Ross' arms and kissed him. He let his arms rest at her hips and prodded her mouth open more by kissing back vigorously. "You..." said Ross with a pivot of his head as he kissed her more. "Are distracting..." They dovetailed their mouths once more in a ravenous sort of combat. "Me..." Dem broke free with a teasing smile. "I don't know what you mean, was just winding up the record player! You're the one creeping about like a tomcat!" Ross smiled into her eyes and let go of her to wind up the player. He looked to her with reproach. "I just wanted to dance," complained Ross, "But you bewitched me and I fell under your wicked spells again!" He got it going and placed the needle on the record. Humming along, feigning innocence as he looked up at the sky. She edged closer. Ross tapped his bare foot in time to the song, crossed his arms, looking as if he had changed his mind and would not dance with her. She came near him and sang along to the record, "Most girls tell love tales, And each phrase dovetails..." She offered her hand with a knowing smile. He lifted her hand in his and swung her out gracefully. Ross stepped forward and kissed her nose, then twirled her to the center of the fountain bed and they danced cheek to cheek, hand to hand and rocking to and fro with one hand at her hip and their other hands clasped together, dancing as if they were Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, if the two famed dancers had been graceful, romantic, long limbed hippies with bright, smitten smiles.

"You're the sail in my love boat,  
You're the captain and crew,  
You will always be my necessity,  
I'd be lost without you.

You will always be my necessity  
I'd be lost without you.  
You  
Sweet, Adorable..."

Dem felt Ross freeze as he stopped. Stopped singing, stopped dancing. Froze. She looked over to the edge, past the fountain bed where Ross was looking and saw three grown ups, two men and a woman, standing there. Dem's mouth fell open and closed back up. They looked at each other, taking in the sight of these three strangers in their elegant hats and clothes. Taking in the sight of these two kids, all arms and legs and bare feet in front this strange and marvelous house in the middle of the wilderness and a Cupid like sweetness in them, having gone from dancing vigorously to standing stock still in surprise...

The trunks and suitcases were on their way back to England. The villa the Eynses rented was empty. With promises to visit the Poldarks at Nampara for Caroline's late uncle had a house, Killewarren, nearby, Dwight and Caroline brought their vacation to its end and left Italy. Hugh and Lord Falmouth worked diligently to get Ross, Dem and their animals back to Cornwall. Hugh would assist them by going to his mother's house, Tregothan, and wait out Seamus and Desdemona's quarantine upon arriving in England so the Poldarks could settle in first and then receive their animals rather than organize them all to land in a heap on Nampara's doorstep at the same time. Ross and Dem were fortunate in their friends and grateful. Lord Falmouth's friendship was as assured as Hugh's, he liked both of them and it was a mutual feeling. The Lord of the Fal was a homebody, not often leaving his beloved Italian villa, but he promised he would visit them in Cornwall in order to meet the new baby and their acquaintance would be maintained.The summer brought all of them closer together and they would not allow the bond to break. Ross and Dem, resplendent with new, authentic and legal passports, a sack of clothes and a guitar case, went home to England. Hugh would meet them upon arrival and bring them to Nampara having departed to Tregothan with Tabitha Bethia and Garrick.

It was fun to be grown ups. Ross replenished his better clothes having had his first set destroyed in a fist fight with George Warleggan. Dem had her blue dress and the peach colored dress that Caroline gave her as a present when they spent a pleasant afternoon at a dress salon. Mr. and Mrs. Poldark attended dinner on the ship with elegant attire and very much in step with the more mature passengers around them who became charmed by the pair. Their clothes marked them out as even more bohemian, even as Ross and Dem believed themselves to have seamlessly fit themselves among the other passengers. The Poldarks thought their nice clothes and Dem's pretty shoes, Ross' well polished boots, let them blend in. Ross' long hair and Demelza's striking red hair, the hint of the artistic temperament in their manner, the glamour of having lived as wild creatures of the wind in a beautiful valley that clung to them even as they reentered society, belied their attempt at conservatism. They garnered attention as if two wild birds of paradise tried their best to be ordinary and were more interesting because of it. It was fun to be themselves. The bathtub on the ship was quite ample. The bed was marvelous. They had more luxury here than their first voyage and a window to view the sea and the pretty landscapes in the distance. They watched the view, now and again, when they paused from other pursuits. Gazing in the distance between soft kisses and passionate embrace. Between gentle, whispered song and sighs of pleasure. Wrapped in loving arms. So many different ways to convey love and so little time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begin The Beguine, Artie Shaw 1938
> 
> When they begin the beguine  
> It brings back the sound of music so tender,  
> It brings back a night of tropical splendor,  
> It brings back a memory ever green.
> 
> I'm with you once more under the stars,  
> And down by the shore an orchestra's playing  
> And even the palms seem to be swaying  
> When they begin the beguine.
> 
> To live it again is past all endeavor,  
> Except when that tune clutches my heart,  
> And there we are, swearing to love forever,  
> And promising never, never to part.
> 
> What moments divine, what rapture serene,  
> Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted,  
> And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted,  
> I know but too well what they mean;
> 
> So don't let them begin the beguine  
> Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember;  
> Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember  
> When they begin the beguine.
> 
> Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play  
> Till the stars that were there before return above you,  
> Till you whisper to me once more,  
> "Darling, I love you!"  
> And we suddenly know, what heaven we're in,  
> When they begin the beguine
> 
> Vest: tank top
> 
> 78 rpm: 78 revolutions per minute, the speed that the old record players worked for older recordings. Later made turntables occasionally had a 78 speed setting to be compatible to the old records but I am pretty sure that was phased out by the mid 1970s. This series is named for the "modern" vinyl record playing speed of 33&1/3.


	66. Stay Awhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to kind reader Bonny who put "Stay Awhile" by The Bells, on my radar.

Hugh, a Londoner through and through when not in Italy, returned to his ancestral seat; his mother's house, Tregothan, in Cornwall, to assist the Poldarks with their animals. Desdemona had one extra day of quarantine than Seamus required and Hugh felt it would be better to stagger Ross bringing Demelza to Nampara. Give them time to settle before their livestock arrived. He collected them from the dockside and drove them to Nampara. Other than hellos and Garrick excitedly barking his pleasure in seeing his human friends, telling them of how very grand Tregothan was in a rapid fire conversation of barking, there was little talk. They were too excited to talk. Hugh looked at his friends in the rearview mirror, charmed by the Poldarks' sense of excitement. Evident in the squeeze of a hand or a dimpled smile. For all they both came to accept their peripatetic lifestyle Ross and Dem seemed excited to try putting roots down, being home. Ross looked into the mirror and smiled wider. Hugh was driving and watching the road, of course, but the smile Ross could see at the edge of the mirror was uplifting. Hugh and his uncle helped them a great deal and the satisfaction he showed in driving them to their house made Ross thankful to have met the Enyses and Hugh. He and Dem prided themselves on being independent but they were fortunate in their friends. In each place they lived, good friends cared for them and gave them aid and support. Hugh was happy for them, it was evident on his face. Happy that he and Dem were about to begin a new life that was old too, homecoming. 'No man is an island...' thought Ross as he shared a smile with Hugh in the mirror. Ross left home believing that it was him against the world, having made so many poor choices in part because he had latched himself to dubious friends in Cornwall, aggravated his father to such a degree by gambling and flirting with petty crime, beginning to toy with serious crime in delivering liquor from the off license, under the table, to pubs. Ross struck out on his own determined to stay away from others but he quickly found that extending a hand of friendship and accepting a hand of friendship had merit. That he became so drawn to Dem he asked her to join him in his travels had given Ross what he didn't really realize he was searching for. Ross turned to watch Dem looking at the passing landscape. Tabitha Bethia occasionally meowing in a lided wicker basket sat between them on the seat. Dem's cheeks were a bit more plump, the barest bump was starting to protrude from her front. Their son or daughter... He was returning to Nampara as its master, bringing his lady and the promise of an heir all in one go. His sadness at missing his late father clung to this new beginning but not so much it overtook the happy sense of promise in being a family. Ross squeezed Dem's hand and she looked away from the window to smile at him. Hugh's eyebrows raised as they approached. Nampara came into view and it was utterly charming. A mowed field lay prettily framed by woods in the distance. It sat by a stone farmhouse with a modest garden. A small hedge of lavender and a lilac tree hemmed one side of it in pale purple colors enriched with green. Splashes of pink from old growth damask and tea roses dotted about in trailing vines and a stout bush that bloomed vigorously. It might have been a painted scene on a chocolate box. "Ross! Your property is wonderful!" said Hugh, astonished at the pretty farmhouse and its environs, grateful that his young friends were in possession of such a place. He'd been half worried they would arrive to a wreck of a place, broken down from lack of attention. Hugh had been fully ready to let them stay at Tregothan had that been the case. This place had been well looked after in Ross' absence. "The Paynters must still be here..." said Ross, struck with wonder. Everything was exact and tidy. It sat waiting for them. Ross' vision blurred, briefly, and he wiped his eyes. A sight for sore eyes... "Dem..." said Ross quietly, organizing his emotions. Papa was gone... "This is Nampara, Dem. This is our house..." She held his hand over the lid of Tabitha Bethia's basket. He turned and smiled at her, fragile and happy and sad too. She returned his smile. The car waggled a little as Hugh parked. He turned, an elbow over the back of the seat as he turned to look at them. The emotions were very near the surface. "We've arrived..." A bolstering smile. Hugh looked to them and suggested in his demeanor that he would be near enough to help and give space enough to let them come home on their own terms. They nodded agreement. Hugh got out and opened the door by Dem. Garrick leapt out and paced about, near Dem, away from the car, back to the car and then they watched him trot forward to the Long Field. Hugh held out his hand to help Dem out. Ross opened the passenger door, exited the car and Dem watched him look from one side of the land to the other. Unlike other times, Demelza noticed that Ross did not test the air upon arriving to Cornwall. The pause he often took, to take the lay of the land in each new place they happened upon, the tilt of his chin and the settling himself in new surroundings was absent. Dem realized that this was the air that Ross tested all other places against. He was home. Ross looked at them over the top of the car with a cheeky sort of smile Hugh and Dem did not expect. "Hugh, could you bring Tabitha Bethia? I shall have my hands full..." Dem did not understand at first but seeing Hugh's delighted grin made her realize Ross intended to carry her over the threshold. She giggled and placed a hand over her little bump. They, (and in this thought Dem meant herself and their baby) were about to enter their house for the first time. At that the front door did open. "My ivers! Master Ross be grown!" Prudie, with Jud close behind, walked forward to see the boy who left return as a young man. Jud looked on in awe. Much like Joshua when he was young but Mistress Grace stamped on him too and a redheaded girl who must be his woman. Jud paused, didn't trust his voice for a moment, but he knew what was fitty and said so. "I reckon ee ain't lettin' the Mistress walk?" Ross grinned, nodded. "Dem..." Ross turned to her and she walked forward. The Paynters stood to the side by the lilac tree as Prudie daubed her eyes at the corners with a dust cloth she'd been holding. Hugh put Tabitha Bethia's basket on the ground, closed the car door and watched from his side of the vehicle as Ross walked holding Dem's hand across the lawn and paused before the door to sweep his wife up into his arms. Dem sat in Ross' arms and they looked at each other as Ross placed a gentle kiss on her mouth and turned a little sideways to bring her through the doorway into Nampara. The cool temperature of leaving the outdoors and the sun and entering the house was pleasant. Ross stood in the hall, still carrying Dem and looked all around. The walls smelled of recent paint and everything looked fresh and crisp. Ross set Dem down and embraced her. They stepped apart and turned to look at their friends. Like a shot the Paynters and Hugh carrying the cat's basket, Garrick bringing up the rear piled in behind them. There were congratulations and the Paynters were introduced to Dem and Hugh. Jud grasped Ross' hand with a great deal of pride and tugged his forelock towards his new mistress. Prudie hugged Dem eyes opening wide to realize Ross' wife was already with child. She stepped apart with a broad smile. "An' a babby too?! Oh my word! My blessed Parliament! An heir!" She looked at them both so full of pride and happiness Ross started to sniffle. Prudie saw his emotions and smiled. "Master Ross be home! With 'is missus an' all! Oh...!" said Prudie as she gave him a hug, held him tight and felt him sink into her arms. Ross became overcome. The one constant through all of his family life was hugs from Prudie. They remained after Mama and Claude had gone, they remained even after rows with Papa and even his own short tempered sass aimed in her direction. They were still available now and he was taller. Her hugs were no less comfy for being older. Papa was gone and he had just brought Dem over the threshold as his wife, she with their baby growing inside her and Prudie was still here with loving arms. Prudie closed her eyes and let Ross cry. Hugh, Dem and Jud discreetly rounded up Garrick and Jud lead them to the parlor. Ross clung to Prudie with all his emotions crashing together, mourning Papa, reunited with Jud and Prudie, bringing Dem to her new home and on the verge of being a parent himself. Safe. Back in Nampara after so many adventures, good and bad. Safe and being held tight by Prudie. "Oh, lad... Ee be a sight fer sore eyes, Master Ross..." She felt him nod 'yes' and placed a gentle hand on his head. 'Time to calm down now...' she might have said. They stepped apart and Ross ground his eyes with closed fists to bring himself to order. "Wha be tha?! Ee got a star on ee?!" Ross smiled, blinked, chuckled and let Prudie examine his ring finger. She traced the star with her forefinger. Tattoos were not fitty. Sailors and ne'er do wells had tattoos. Ross smiled, face blotchy from crying but a true smile. She looked at him sternly and somehow that was cheering for him, that Prudie could surround him with protective love and then scold him in rapid succession made him happy. Prudie shook her head in exasperation. Master Ross had a lot of explaining to do. She patted his hand. Later... thought Prudie. She squeezed his hand and they went to the others in the parlor. Garrick barked and went to Ross who knelt down to scratch his neck. "This is Garrick!" he said to Jud and Prudie, cheerfully. Hugh and the Paynters, Dem and the Paynters all looked to each other. Ross was settled now. The visiting could begin.

They ate in the kitchen. Hugh was charmed by every bit of the house. He could see the template in the folly's cozy atmosphere was within this place. The same mixture of grand objects and rustic comfort lay in this place too. The Paynters were the sort of servants like cook in Italy. One knew the roles of master _and_ servant were fused within them in their confidence over knowing the house and its inhabitants. They were as much masters over their charges as servants in truth. Hugh was relieved. Demelza and Ross had been young runways, running from what he'd had little idea until Uncle inquired over the Poldarks through government channels. Uncle mentioned Ross had a juvenile scrape or two with the law. Of Dem they could find nothing. Hugh worried England would hold little for them but this house was welcoming, the kitchen was warm and cozy, the Paynters were loving. The house was well looked after and Dem's eyes took every bit of it in with awe. The lady meeting her domain for the first time. Ross watched her with the pride of being able to give her a home and have this pretty girl as his wife. It was very sweet to see and Hugh and the Paynters glanced at each other in silent agreement of this fact. They ate a hastily prepared pie, stew blanketed in crust but in no way lacking for all it was quickly devised. Tabitha Bethia walked in and out of different rooms as if it was she who was mistress of Nampara. Garrick explored out of doors. Hugh asked Ross and Dem to expect Seamus and Desdemona in three days time and took his leave, happy to know the Poldarks were home in truth and in good hands.

They considered calling ahead to Trenwith, to let them know they had returned. They decided to wait and call them tomorrow. Ross wanted to have time to themselves and knowing there were some days before the animals arrived left a bit of time. The Paynters stayed at a discreet remove, ready to assist, able to give their master and mistress space. Hugh left their bag of clothes and Ross' guitar in the hall. The rest of their things were most likely at Trenwith. Ross showed Dem his old room, the one they intended for the baby. He came to it as fresh as Dem did for it was freshly painted and the bed dressed with new sheets. It a waited its future occupant in a cheerful tidiness. They paused to smile at each other shyly before Ross brought her to the master bedroom. Mama and Papa's room, now theirs. Dem went in and turned round in a circle, looked at all the room and back to Ross in a sense of awe. It was restful and pretty and theirs. They came to unspoken agreement that it was bedtime. The sun had not gone down. The day not done. They would rest now. Ross went downstairs to make sure Garrick and Tabitha Bethia were indoors. He brought up the bag of clothes and shut the door. He left the bag on the floor and they looked at each other like that for a while. Dem extended her hand and Ross walked forward to take it. They wanted to talk but could not think what say. They knew what was next but it struck them both as so important they were at a loss to begin. He walked with her to the bed and let go her hand. Dem watched Ross' face, his eyes. She did not look away but undid her skirt. She pulled the zipper open, unclasped the little tab that held the waistband shut, the hint of their baby not yet large enough to keep from wearing it. Ross stood still as his eyes followed the skirt fall to the floor. With that they undressed. Stripped nude save for their wedding bands hanging at their necks. Dem's belly plumped from the infant inside. Ross crawled upon the bed and Dem followed. They knelt facing each other. Ross and Demelza took pains to set aside their rising feelings of arousal. To accept and acknowledge it but hold it at a remove. The light of the evening was a bright dusk, the concentration of sunlight ending and making the room a smudgy gold, a dying light in which hint of red and orange and purple were beginning to overtake the light of day. The room was frozen around them in a clash of eras. Ross' parents slept here. They made love. Ross and Dem would sleep here. They would make love. They years would spool forward and this room would be theirs. They sat at the dawn of this truth. They were home. Ross slowly undid the clasp of his necklace chain. Dem undid hers they both slowly brought it away from their necks and let them lay by their knees on the bed. The chains and the heavy gold of their rings glinted in the changing light, bright in the dimming room. Dem smiled brightly, looked at Ross with an excited flush of anticipation. Ross' smile widened as he lifted Dem's ring from the bed and they both watched the chain slither to the mattress through it as he held it with his forefinger and thumb. He held his left palm before her and she lay her hand their. Ross' hand felt firm and strong. The held the hand of the woman he loved and they watched each others eyes intently. He rubbed his thumb over her tattooed star and said,

I, Ross , take you, Sweetness,

to be my wife,

to have and to hold

from this day forward;

for better, for worse,

for richer, for poorer,

in sickness and in health,

to love and to cherish,

till death us do part

Ross looked at her face and then at her hand. He slipped the ring upon her finger and felt a shiver of excitement as it fit, just so, and shone there as he held his wife's hand. Dem grinned and her eyes scrunched briefly in her happiness. Ross called her Sweetness as he vowed to be her husband once more. It charmed Demelza and made her feel like her mother could somehow know Ross loved her daughter and would be a good man and a good father. She turned her hand, palm up in his and he placed his hand upon hers. Ross watched her pick up his wedding ring and the wonderful little bulge at her belly. A taut little secret they could juuuuuuust see. Proof of their love... She held the ring aloft like a sorceress bestowing a magic token. Her red hair caught the last rays of the day's sunshine as the room's light shifted to night. Her eyes shone like the ring. The light in her eyes that Ross adored shone over him as she said,

I, Sweetness, take you, Ross,

to be my husband,

to have and to hold

from this day forward;

for better, for worse,

for richer, for poorer,

in sickness and in health,

to love and to cherish,

till death us do part

She slipped the ring on Ross' finger and brought his hand to her lips to kiss the ring for good measure. He watched Dem kiss his hand, felt the warmth of her mouth there and knew joy. Sweetness loved him. Ross felt as if his heart might burst from joy. He looked at her longingly. "Oh, my love..." A soft, slow series of movements. Ross curled his hand in hers to grasp it firm. Dem brought her right hand to Ross' head. He lay his right hand at her cheek, her hair. His hand enveloped her head as he drew near and the soft inhalation as they both brought their lips near and the softness of Dem's mouth, the wet heat of Ross' mouth as they kissed deeply and time stopped for a while.

The room could have been anywhere, really, in the dark. Ross and Dem lay asleep in the antique four poster bed that had been Ross' parents' and countless other Poldarks... No. No, that's not so. In the library of this house there exists a bible that puts lie to a statement such as that. One could count the other Poldarks and be assured in knowing, in exactitude, the unbroken legacy of the Poldarks who lived in Nampara. In this house where its occupants each took their turn to mark their permanence, beginning when the house was built and this bed frame was bought in Georgian times, Ross and Dem lay in their home. Ross Poldark, his wife Demelza and their child, a Poldark yet to be born, lay asleep in the antique four poster bed that had been his parents' bed before him and his ancestral seat. Ross and his wife were not just anywhere. They were home. The inscriptions added to the bible would be written with newfangled pens, these Poldarks would take their place in the ongoing chain of births and deaths and weddings and in some far flung future be just as distant to their descendants as they were to the spidery faded names inscribed ahead of theirs. Ross and Dem were home now and here they would stay. They had rings on their fingers to prove it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay Awhile, The Bells 1971
> 
> Into my room he creeps  
> Without making a sound  
> Into my dreams he peeps  
> With his hair all long and hanging down  
> How he makes me quiver  
> How he makes me smile  
> With all this love I have to give him  
> I guess I'm gonna stay with him awhile  
> She brushes the curls from my eyes  
> She drops her robe on the floor  
> And she reaches for the light on the bureau  
> And the darkness is her pillow once more  
> How she makes me quiver  
> How she makes me smile  
> With all this love I have to give her  
> I guess I'm gonna stay with her awhile  
> How it makes me quiver  
> How it makes me smile  
> With all this love I have to give you  
> Guess I'm gonna stay with you awhile  
> [Repeat]  
> Stay with you awhile  
> I guess I'm gonna stay


	67. Penthouse and Pavement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Tre, Pol and Pen shall ye know Cornishmen

Robert d' Arqué had come to England from France in 1572. By the 1600s the name began an inexorable slide into the firmament of Cornwall having been styled "Poldarque". By 1696, Anna-Maria Trenwith wed Charles Vivian Poldarque, thus gaining a Cornish prefix, losing accent marks and beginning the foundation not only of the Poldarks of Cornwall but their demarcation within the imagination of the surrounding community. The genetic split that so marked the family's modern incarnation. The similarities of their features were stamped upon the Poldark men as clear as a coin but one side tended towards the blond of Anna-Maria's Trenwith legacy while the other held fast to the dark haired features of their ancient progenitor. Poldarks all, but seen as the "dark" and the "fair", in features, in temperament. Joshua Poldark, disreputable in the extreme for his unapologetic womanizing, his son, Ross an unfortunate boy to be pitied for the deaths of his mother and six year old brother. Lumbered with an inattentive scoundrel of a father and left to his own devices as a juvenile delinquent, playing at gambling, causing havoc in three villages through joy riding in stolen cars, up to all sorts and vanished before he was to stand trial with his criminally inclined companions. Both Nampara Poldarks marked by the dark looks of discontent, mischief and scandal as well as the color of their hair. Charles Poldark, wealthy, a Poldark in truth, the heir and possessor of Trenwith house and the respectability that being the "fair" Poldark conveys. His son, Francis, destined to inherit the wealth, privilege and honor of one of the oldest and distinguished families of the district bore the pure, blameless strain of the fair, Trenwith side. That Charles' daughter, Verity, hewed to the brunette was not seen as a failing in her, simply proof that the two sides of this old family met in truth. One portion of the family, "the dark", bearing rumor, infamy and disgrace, the other, "the fair", carrying all that was honorable in their good name. Tonight, the two sides of this old family would meet in truth. Ross Poldark, occasionally feared dead by his relatives, for they had no word from him having left home at age fifteen, had returned from his travels on the Continent, newly married and poised to become master of Nampara after the death of his father. A wooden crate the size of a man, stamped in marks that proved its journey from Italy to England and weighing a great deal sat in a disused outbuilding on the Trenwith grounds awaiting word that its owners could claim it. Ross called his Uncle Charles in the morning, having been gone abroad these many years, having returned to Nampara some days prior, with the nonchalance of someone who might have been asking to borrow a cup of sugar. Charles invited his nephew to dine at Trenwith, curious to see for himself how the boy fared and who his wife was. Ross had been a guest of Lord Falmouth at his Italian villa. Even the most wealthy and rarified aristocracy in Cornwall had only heard tell of the place, never been there. Charles knew his late brother had no connections to Lord Falmouth, would spit at the idea. He was the second son but held a snobbery at titles that many of the "ancient name" families held, in more irritation over the idea than even Charles, the first born heir. Charles could practically hear Joshua grouse in his head, when tut tutting over some grasping person thirsting for a knighthood, throwing money around in a shameless manner, in hopes of getting one. "What are they taking that for?! What does it give them, _really_? Poldarks don't need handles. We're good as any just as we are..." Charles sighed. He really could imagine his brother's voice as he might have spoken it, and missed him too, in a way. Joshua made a damned nuisance of himself but he was a brother... That he was... No, Joshua had no truck with such a titled personage. Surely the girl Ross married was some sort of heiress!

Dem noted less milk in the bucket as Ross brought it into the kitchen. Desdemona was going dry. This was not a hardship. Soon the cow could have a life of leisure, grazing and being treated like the Queen of Sheba at Nampara. Dem felt a bit like the Queen of Sheba herself. Between Ross, Jud and Prudie, in a handful of days, she was starting to forget what chores even were. They were content that she sit still and twiddle her toes, sit tight and grow the little Poldark in her. It was sweet of them really. It gave her time to draw and that pleased Demelza. She and Ross both kept up with their drawing and the enforced insistence that she take things easy in her pregnancy let her expand her horizons. She began work on larger, more intricate drawings. She took her time and began to create shading with speckles of tiny dots rather than broad swathes of graphite or charcoal. Dem started using a pen nib and ink she found in the library and spent many dreamlike hours adding fanciful details to her pictures, sitting on the floor of the parlor playing with Tabitha Bethia and Garrick and helping Prudie in the kitchen as much as the older woman would allow. After four days of quiet bliss, settling in Nampara, reunited with their horse and cow, hosting Hugh at teatime and laying their heads at night in their own proper home it occurred to them both that they should notify Uncle Charles, Francis and Verity that they had returned, not in the least to thank them for minding Nampara in Ross' absence. The house, the grounds, the orchard were all looked after beautifully and made their homecoming a delight. Ross agreed to bring Dem to dinner this very evening and their clothes for best were laid out to mirror the specialness of the occasion.

"Honestly!" said Hugh in exasperation. "Ross and Dem are lovely! You'll find them as charming and Uncle and I do! Come to tea! They'll welcome the chance to meet you!" Lady Armitage did not frown. Frowning accentuated lines by her eyes and she took pains not to encourage them. Her face remained impassive but Hugh could see disapproval in her eyes. "I certainly will not be seen entering or leaving that den of iniquity! You and your Uncle are so often away in Italy and London. You are removed from the local intricacies." she sniffed disapprovingly. "I shall not be seen in Joshua Poldark's abode. The goings on with that man were a disgrace to the entire community!" Hugh sighed. "Mama, one of the oldest prescriptions known is "the son shall not suffer from the sins of the father..." She raised a chilly eyebrow. "The son has his own poor repu..." Hugh crossed his arms. " _Mama_!" Lady Armitage finished pruning her roses and began to remove her gloves. "You and Lord Falmouth may associate with whom ever you please. I, for one, will not visit Nampara house! As it stands I am content to keep even the Trenwith Poldarks at arms length. That the head of that family exercised no control over their relation making a spectacle of his, his _sport_ makes them just as lax I should think!" Hugh sighed. "Then have them here..." She looked skeptical. "I shall invite them to tea and you can meet them. You liked having Garrick about the place, and Tabitha Bethia! That's a safe topic of conversation at least!" That she did not say no out right emboldened him. "Let's invite them to tea, Mama. They are good friends, truly. I would not have it so that my friends be shunned! Have them here and meet them on your own terms. I promise you'll adore them!" She pursed her lips. Hugh waited. She sighed. Hugh always knew how to blink his eyes at her. "You know I have no proof against you..." she said, dryly. He grinned. She ever saw her baby in him, that never changed. She sighed. "So be it. We will take tea in the orangerie..." Hugh and his mother exchanged fond smiles. "Thank you, Mama."

Tea at Tregothan. A spur of the moment change that charmed Ross and Dem both. They could dress for Trenwith and go from one to the other. Ross drew a bath and, with care that it not be too hot, care that Dem not slip as she entered and exited the tub, they sat in a lazy recline with the last sliver of their italian, poppy scented soap. They bought another bar of it after Warleggan's men pitched their soap away and left a dead rat in their soap container. In a fit of stubbornness Ross bought the same sort of case (though it was pink, they could not get another yellow one) and a new bar of soap and kept it with their bag of clothes. They lay in the tub and talked of this and that, of dreams, of the small victories in Dem getting a bit more shading on parts of her drawing, of Seamus and Desdemona settling in, of the promise of ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and hoping that their little baby would be happy and the first of many. Hugh arrived and then drove them back to Tregothan. That Ross and Dem's pets had enjoyed hospitality there and the owners had not was something Hugh was determined to rectify. They were as impressed by the grand house as any they had seen in their travels. Dem was excited by Lady Armitage's roses and Hugh made a mental note to suggest his mother show the Poldarks the garden. Hugh had no doubt that his young friends would conquer Mama's heart, she just needed time to get to know them.

There was a conservatory and an orangerie at Tregothan, separate indoor rooms devoted to plants and Dem was very taken with the orangerie. It was rich with potted lemons and oranges in many lovely blue and white vases and pots, had a glass ceiling that let in a great deal of light, wrought iron garden furniture and a small songbird that was allowed to fly about the room when Lady Armitage was present to insure it returned to its cage. They had a pleasant tea. Hugh monitored the situation with increasing good humor. Mama, sensitive to the Poldarks looking so young and Dem so prettily pregnant, victualed them with the frosted cakes and currant buns he remembered from the infant teas of his childhood. The zeal with which his mother agreed to show them the garden and topped up their cups with cheerful explanations of the growth cycle of orange trees, that her deep throated chuckle came forward of its own accord as Ross or Dem charmed her with one anecdote or another made Hugh inclined to say, 'I told you so' though he kept mum. He was not surprised when she admonished Dem that she must come to tea when her prize orchids bloomed. That was a sought after social invitation that Mama offered sparingly. Inviting Ross and Dem to tea had achieved a double end Hugh had not sought but was glad of. Dem attending the orchid bloom tea would give the young Poldarks a vetting strong enough to silence the clattering notoriety of Ross' late father. Lady Armitage did not extended invitations to so private a gathering to just anyone. When Hugh returned from delivering the Poldarks to Trenwith, he did not gloat and Lady Armitage did not suggest herself to be corrected. She simply said, "A pleasant afternoon, wasn't it?"

Verity shook Hugh's hand and exchanged hellos. She had seen him once at a polo match but never had speech with him. The Poldarks exited the car. Verity hugged Ross and gave him a warm smile. "Oh, Ross! I'm so glad you're back!" Dem watched Ross' face turn into the beatific sort of smile that appeared when he was most happy at his cousin's shoulder. It cheered her. "Verity, this is my wife, Dem!" She hugged Dem at once and gasped realizing she had pressed up against the barest of baby bumps in the embrace. "Oh! Oh my!" Dem and Ross both nodded. "Oh! How wonderful! I'm so pleased to meet you, Dem. Congratulations!" They clasped hands and admired each other as Francis came out too. "Cousin!" called Francis as he approached. "Francis!" Ross grinned and they shook hands. "Ross! And your lady love!" teased Francis as he shook Ross' hand. He was introduced to Dem and the made their way inside. Dem looked all around. The house was Elizabethan and wonderfully English. Charles came through to greet them and could see at once that Ross had landed himself a blueblood. Her tall, pretty looks and pale colored dress, the grace about her movements, a pedigreed girl to be sure. As the evening progressed it was even more obvious. Ross and his wife spoke of dining at Maxim's in Paris, private art instruction, a remote country house in a secluded valley in Italy, the girl let slip that she would attend Lady Armitage's orchid viewing tea! No wonder they were guests of Lord Falmouth. Charles was considering just how to inquire as to the girl's illustrious family when Verity asked. "Ross! What is that mark on your finger?" Ross swallowed down what he was chewing. "It is a star," He and Dem smiled a charming love in each other's eyes and he continued his explanation. "We did not have rings when we wed..." Charles eyes widened in surprise. Tattoos, in general, were not seen as respectable but it was often rumored that some European royals indulged in discrete tattoos... How blueblooded was this girl? "Did you not?" asked Francis. "The rings you have are quite handsome. Did you get them in France?" Dem blinked happily, nodded. "They were from Van Cleef and Arpels..." At the point Dem's answer to Francis about the wedding rings convinced Charles that his nephew's wife was a minor royal Ross said, "We got tattooed in prison!"

It was a lovely reunion. The Poldarks of Trenwith could see the earnest happiness and love between Ross and his wife. Ross and Dem also gave their heartfelt thanks for the generosity of looking after Nampara so well and keeping their crate of belongings. Charles, Verity and Francis, inwardly, gave thanks that their cousin had written ahead and the speeding they contrived to make Nampara respectable upon Ross' return had won the day. Francis offered to drive them back to Nampara which they agreed to. When Francis returned he found Verity and Father in the winter parlor and joined them in a nightcap. "Ross looked so happy! Dem is lovely! They are wonderful together!" gushed Verity. Francis looked to Charles who had sat mouth agape listening to Ross and Dem's tales of their wanderings as street musicians. He smiled at his father hoping he was not judging cousin Ross and his wife too harshly. Francis could see that Father had been shocked but he did manage to laugh and seemed to like some of the stories even as he was totally baffled by their lifestyle. "Ross was wise to choose her, I think," said Francis. He lifted his drink in a gesture of acceptance. "I like her! And after all, so long as her spirit be good what does matter whether she comes from Windsor Palace or Strippy Strappy Lane!?" Verity laughed. She also saw the alarm in Father's face during some of the stories. She thought it sounded cute and romantic. "And they've come home!" said Verity. "They will start a family and live happily ever after!" Charles looked at his children and was thankful that he had conservative tastes. They were polite, decent, well educated and poised to be accepted in their rightful place in society. They were also enough like their late mother to accept their wayward cousin and his wife with love and genuine good will. "Here, here!" said Charles. "To Ross and Dem and happily ever after." And the Trenwith Poldarks clinked their glasses in honor of Ross and their new cousin in the winter parlor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penthouse and Pavement, Heaven 17 1981
> 
> Sweat my youth away  
> With the rules we have to play  
> Speeding through your magazine  
> Pistol, pavement, no T.V.  
> Talk and talk  
> No time, night time  
> Burnt inside  
> Here comes the daylight, here comes my job  
> Uptown in the penthouse or downtown with the mob  
> Here comes the night time, here comes my role  
> Goodbye to the pavement, hello to my soul
> 
> Now here comes my job  
> Credit, bleeding with the mob  
> Dreams become ideals  
> No one knows the way I feel  
> Love to love  
> Daytime, right time  
> All my life
> 
> Here comes the daylight, here comes my job  
> Uptown in the penthouse or downtown with the mob  
> Here comes the night time, here comes my role  
> Goodbye to the pavement, hello to my soul  
> Feel safe in the crowd  
> An no one admits they're crying aloud  
> My career fits like a glove  
> Knowing no orders can come from above  
> Work and work  
> Full time, part time  
> Anytime at all
> 
> As you face the wall  
> God make it this time or never at all  
> Before your chance has gone  
> Captain this lead role and you'll be the one  
> Shine and shine  
> This time, my time  
> Make me free at last
> 
> By Tre, Pol and Pen shall ye know Cornishmen: first recorded by Richard Carew in his Survey of Cornwall in 1602 this quip explains the predominance of these three prefixes in Cornish surnames. "Tre" means homestead, "Pol" means pond, pool or well, "Pen" means hill. WG constructed from the name "Polgreen" ,"Poldark" thinking it a more striking sort of name and devised an etymology for it's change from French to Cornish that is fictional but very sound from a Cornish perspective.
> 
> If you need a boost, throw on Penthouse and Pavement by Heaven 17. It's such a fun, upbeat song, a song that's hard to stay still to :)


	68. Laughter And Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Permanence

At each point of Demelza's pregnancies, when she became large and ungainly in her third trimester, she had a moment of doubt. Ross never once suggested she was anything but her beautiful self but she felt "ugly". It fretted her and Ross along with the Paynters learned to expect this mood and treat her gently. Insisting she was attractive seemed to fret her more, so they carried on, leaving her be until Dem found some sort of equilibrium. In this, the first pregnancy, Dem entertained doubts of a different nature. Ross always enjoyed the end of her pregnancy. He could hold her in bed and feel the little person wriggling inside her. In this, their first experience with having a baby, Ross and Dem lay in their bed in Nampara like kids secreted away in a blanket den or a tree house for draperies hung around the sides of the four poster bed in an old fashioned manner. They curled up together whispering and drowsing and kissing lazily, talking of things they might like to do and what it might be like to be a Mama and a Papa. Dem relaxed her knees, shifted her legs and tried to get more comfortable. The baby had been napping too for it woke with vigor. Ross felt the movement at his own stomach. "Playtime?" laughed Ross. Dem snuggled her head near his, huffed a laugh. "Yes. I can feel when the baby wakes up..." The infant turned to the side, stretching the shape of Dem's belly out of alignment like a ski slope and Ross felt a nudge at his hand as he felt Dem's skin. "Oh... We shall play Patty Cake!" Ross chuckled. "You will lay still Sweetness, and we will play clapping games through your tummy!" Dem shook the mattress laughing and an elbow or knee pressed forward in a little point. "They don't like me laughing." said Dem. "Maybe it feels like an earthquake!" They lay quiet for a while. Ross toyed with a curl of Dem's hair. "Jud said the apple trees are in good condition. They had to cut down a few sick trees but the orchard is in good shape..." said Ross. Dem suddenly wished the baby was out already. Wouldn't it be grand to lie on her front and have a good stretch... The kind were you can feel the relief in your back and one's toes and fingers splay in all directions? "Did you keep the apples here, to eat just for yourselves?" asked Dem. Ross thought a bit. "Not always... Some went to the farm shop in Sawle but that's when it was a bumper crop..." Ross turned away to lay on his back. He was thinking. Dem poked his side and he giggled. "What?" asked Dem. "The other hay field," said Ross. "The one higher up... It gets better sun... It might be worth sowing something other than letting the grass sit there. The other field is plenty of hay and Papa and Jud used the Long Field for hay too..." Ross thought a bit more. The woods behind that field were still Nampara land. They were a demarcation showing the end of that hay field but not really. "We'd have to fence that far side in..." thought Ross aloud to the air around them rather than directly to Dem. Dem lay on her back. She regretted it and rolled back to her side. "Do you want to farm, Ross?" He stared at the canopy of the bed. They were young and not afraid of hard work. "I wonder what it would take to build a dormitory..." mused Ross. Dem looked amazed. "What! Like the growers compound?!" Ross was encouraged by Dem's exclamation. She sounded intrigued, didn't seem to think Ross was crazy. "Yes... Not as big as them though. Quite a little compound..." Ross having admitted one idle thought figured he might as well continue. "The orchard isn't very large, the fields here wouldn't be as large but it _is_ too much work for just us to meet..." Ross toyed with the edge of the drapes by the bed, fiddled with the hem between his fingers. "I think we'd sleep sweeter with these drapes taken down, Ross..." yawned Dem. Ross nodded and then realized Dem probably didn't see. "As you please... We don't have to have them stay up... Maybe we could help other kids..." Dem turned sharply. "Have seasonal pickers that are kids? Would they let us do that?!" Ross frowned. They knew who "They" were. The proper grown ups, the law, the straight world... But they were becoming grown ups too, in a way. "I suppose there's rules to follow. We wouldn't be a big farm... Just some kids to help out and learn like we did..." said Ross. Dem thought of the Home. The girls did laundry chores and other work on the grounds from morning to night, so long as they weren't too pregnant, and all education stopped. They had no more schooling. Destined to drudge and not able to better themselves. "It couldn't just be work..." mused Dem. "They should read like we used to do with Brose. Read good books," Dem thought a bit more. "There should be school, but not like school!" Ross understood what she meant. Ross and Dem both hated school but loved learning. Brose's studio didn't feel like a school but they learned about art and ideas and read poetry and learned to draw. Brose sat with them and talked with them and even translated things written in other languages so Ross and Dem learned things from books that they couldn't actually read themselves. It was school and not school. Not boring, horrible school... "That would be good..." said Ross.

They were quiet for a time. "Ross?" asked Dem, timidly. "Mmmuph?" asked Ross, drowsily. "Do you think I'll go to Hell?" asked Dem. Ross recoiled with a jolt. "What!?" That certainly woke him up. Ross turned to look at her like she had two heads. Demelza looked on in genuine interest. She was never quite sure how these things shook out. The matrons of the Home had strong opinions about girls like Demelza. She was said to be difficult to redeem, a vessel of sin. Her father's alcoholism was a mark against her. Her poverty was a mark against her. Her injuries might be proof that her father had reached what limits of correction he could mete and had to admit defeat, give her over to the Home. The matrons didn't seem to believe any of the girls could be made pure. The girls might well have had one foot destined for Hell anyway, to hear the matrons despair of them. Dem was never sure how much sin she, personally, was responsible for even before she shot the man who had attacked them and tried to strangle Ross. Dem asked, "If the policeman died, if I murdered him, do you think I'll go to Hell?" Ross sat up, horrified. "No! No of course not! I should think he would go to Hell! You defended us Dem! God wouldn't be that strict!" She looked past him in their bed, past his thighs. This was not the dreamy gaze Dem so often had when she sang. She had retreated into her mind's eye. Ross looked at her quizically. "Have you truly thought you would go to Hell for Marseilles?!" he asked quietly. She looked up. "I wonder, sometimes..." She let her hand rest on Ross' thigh. He reached to hold her hand. "We made a baby, Ross." said Dem. "We used to be babies..." Dem looked up at her husband, searchingly. "This person is brand new, they didn't exist." she paused. Dem was feeling and parsing all manner of strange thoughts. "We didn't exist either, once..." Ross nodded. "We won't exist again..." Ross looked at her sharply. They had entered even deeper waters now. "Yes, Dem..." said Ross. He started to stroke her hair. "Mum is already there, your mum, your brother..." said Dem. "Papa..." said Ross. She nodded. "I shouldn't be afraid because everyone has to go there, wherever _there_ is..." Ross nodded. "We are alive, Dem. It doesn't do to look too far ahead but Dem," said Ross. "Those men might have killed us then! They said they would. Said they would throw us face..." he paused. He heard the man say it in his head as if they were standing in that room again. _After we're done you'll be face down in the harbor!_ Demelza felt Ross' hand still upon her head. "You aren't wicked like those men were," continued Ross. "You saved my life! You kept us from dying then, Dem! God wouldn't punish you for shooting him even if he did die!" Dem considered Ross' explanation. She accepted his logic, nodded. Ross was relieved to have persuaded Sweetness that she had not become damned for what was clearly self defense as well as being Ross' saviour. Ross was not sure what else to say about the rest. What could be said? No one lives forever. They would die at some point. Nobody ever came back to say what happens. You have to just face it when it happens... "Dem..." Ross sighed. "We can be a good Mama and Papa. We can be good people." He withdrew his hand from her head and lay back down, face to face. "That is what we can control, Dem. I can love you and you can love me and we will be good to our children and good to other people." She closed her eyes and nodded. They settled in an embrace. Even the baby inside seemed to know to lay still, that its parents were in the midst of deep waters and serious. "If we live our lives well then we can hold our heads up when it comes time to go... Wherever _there_ is..." said Ross. Dem nodded again. They were quiet. Life on the streets was often fraught with peril, grown ups with ill intent were everywhere. They both had all manner of scrapes and leering threats that were unpleasant but the police who made sport with them in Marseilles; stole their money and lured them to an established lair to exploit young victims had been the most terror they had ever experienced. Their abduction never left Ross and Dem. It could be set aside, not trouble them in day to day life but it marked them both. It wasn't a matter of trying to forget it, the situation was too much of a puncture in their lives to make forgetting it an option. They could synthesize it into their life, though. Cope with that trauma and set it in a place between them that allowed Ross and Dem to live on, make space to exist alongside that darkness so it would not impinge on what was, life now. "It isn't a matter of punishment, Dem." Ross strove to continue. He could remember the painful strain in his neck as he flung the gun as far away as he could. "We were in danger and we got out. If that man died you are not to blame. You will not go to Hell, Dem. No one knows what happens when we die but I will tell you, for certain sure, you will not go to Hell." said Ross. They lay with the silence of the house around them. Ross clutched her hand in sudden feeling, "We are here, _now_. We are." Ross clutched her hand in sudden feeling. "We _are_." He brought her hand to his lips, spoke over her fingers and held her hand near. They watched each other's eyes. "So long as that's true, we will love each other, Sweetness." Dem squeezed Ross' fingers and he knew that she understood.

"Thank you, Ross." whispered Dem.

"You're welcome, my love." whispered Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laughter And Forgetting, David Sylvian 1986
> 
> Running like a horse between the trees  
> The ground beneath my feet  
> Gives me something to hold on to
> 
> With the reins around my heart  
> Guided by hands that spread life before my very eyes
> 
> Well every hope falls down on it's knees in time  
> But I'm no longer lost  
> Every day, every second, every hour inside  
> Love's my only guide
> 
> Are these the years for laughter and forgetting?


	69. Art School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate favors the bold

"Dem! The supplies arrived!" said Ross gleefully as the postman went on his way. Demelza came into the hall with the same bright, merry eyes as Julia in her arms. "Oh thank goodness!" She shifted the baby to her hip as Julia blinked a happy greeting to her Papa turning from the front door as he closed it by backing up bodily against it, his arms so taken up with the package. He smiled at both of them bringing a hefty looking box wrapped in brown paper into the house and they all went into the parlor. Ross and Dem exchanged items. Ross set the box down by the hearth, stood up, and brought Julia out of Dem's arms with both hands raising her in the air to admire her before cuddling her in his. They looked to each other happily and then to Dem who made short work of opening the box of art supplies the Poldarks ordered from London. Ross came to stand by Dem and they both looked into the box with a contented smile. Julia looked in as well not able to divine the use of the cavalcade of Winsor and Newton watercolors and inks, fine sable paintbrushes with their tips protected in transit by stiff plastic tubes, pen nibs in tiny plastic cases and their holders, slender knife blades in vicious rows guarded in bands of cork, two Arches watercolor blocks, one hot pressed, one cold, bristol board and packets of pencils both graphite and colored. Julia was unable to understand their uses, craning to see them over Papa's arms but she was happy because Mama and Papa were happy. Ross and Demelza smiled with excited anticipation. It was a box of delights to dream over and, more importantly, the tools of their desired trade. The Nampara Poldarks lived well, if frugally, in Ross' childhood home. They had a baby girl which they named Julia. They found that living in a house was hard work even with housekeepers to help tend things. They found parenting to be hard work and an exercise in sleep deprivation. The work to keep a home and be parents was enjoyable for them even with the effort it required. Living at the folly had been good training, a bridge between their street life and living in a proper home of their own. The hard physical tasks of hauling water and managing the chores like laundry and boiling things clean over an open fire, tending animals and bringing supplies home in the valley gave them both stamina to meet the work of home with the niceties of running water and electricity. Seamus and Desdemona were content at Nampara, Tabitha Bethia settled in the house with her customary regal attitude and Garrick flit between the indoors and the outdoors in enthusiastic happiness. The horse and cow were still his friends, the cat too and there were rabbits aplenty. Garrick liked the other humans that lived here as they were friendly folk and Dem Demelza Sweetness My Love and Ross had a pup, it was a cute little thing that smelled like both of them. Ross and Dem did not fret for money. They had a modest amount of funds bequeathed from Joshua that left them quite comfortable in their modest life. But it would not last forever. The Poldarks would have to earn money and they mulled over various ideas. Ross still wondered if farming could keep them as well as helping kids that were in distress, as he and Dem had been. Ross continued to make inquiries over the necessary insurance and paperwork, the rules and regulations that must be followed in expanding the farm to board minors as well as making the numbers make sense, figuring out how much outlay would be needed bring actual income. This was a task they were both a little nervous and afraid of. This wouldn't be a handful of busking change they would be dealing with. The Poldarks would have to deal with banks and lawyers and real money. In this Ross was grateful for Uncle Charles' advice. Uncle Charles thought it a noble idea worth pursuing and promised to look into the whys and wherefores. The information and legal papers Ross read and pondered over were procured by Uncle Charles on Ross' behalf and they discussed them along with Francis and Verity after their standing Sunday lunch at Trenwith. Ross was not in a hurry to begin and was happy to take time learning and understanding the intricacies of these things in the winter parlor with his uncle and cousins who knew these sorts of things and were patient enough to explain it to him and Dem. He would tread into that slowly. In the meantime, he and Dem decided it was prudent to play to their strengths and seek work as illustrators. When they spent a Paris winter staying in an artist's studio, they learned to draw, continuing to hone their skills ever since by drawing frequently. Their friend, Ambrose, created artwork for magazines and advertisements and it struck them both as something they could try their hand at. Both Ross and Dem had a confidence in their abilities and watching Brose working at his assignments made commercial artwork seem like a worthy and enjoyable occupation. 

Prudie left the kitchen at noon to persuade Demelza to eat something. The house was silent so the baby must be sleeping. Surely Dem could stop drawing to snaffle down something. Prudie entered the parlor to find it empty. A large drawing of a whale, strange and beautiful with colors one would not think to use for a whale or the sea; red, purple, orange, swirls of black, lay half done on the table littered with cool, white ceramic palettes holding pools of colors just beginning to evaporate and turn dry, brushes, pens, inks and paint, a glass jar of vividly crimson water where Demelza cleaned her brushes but Dem was no where to be seen. Prudie went upstairs to see if she was looking after Julia. The bedroom door was ajar. Prudie found Dem lying upon the master bed fully dressed; the hem of her skirt baring her legs, feet bare, her loose cotton blouse embroidered with bright flowers and leaves at the collar, at the cuffs, hair in a swirling trail about her head on the mattress curled and snuggled next to Julia, in a white flannel gown speckled with pink rose buds, the baby lay by her mother in much the same way a seed fit inside a shell, her eyes closed tight, dreaming infant dreams with her lips softly parted, her little fist clutching one of her mother's fingers near the star tattooed there, a hint gold ring glinting by the baby's hand in the dim canopy covered bed. Ross, nude, lay spooned behind Dem; arm draped over both of his ladies like a sentry guarding treasure or a young boy clutching his teddy, a star and a ring on his hand as well, chin resting by Dem's hair with the barest bit of stubble growing there, just beginning to take hold, a hint of maturity that had eluded Ross until now, lips parted in a gentle snore, not unlike Julia, an amusing similarity between the sleeping father and sleeping daughter. All three curled up together, exhausted. Julia tired from being up teething and Ross and Dem from burning the candle at both ends for weeks on end. Tabitha Bethia leapt from the corner of the bed and rubbed herself around Prudie's ankles. "An ee be lookin' after 'em I reckon?" smiled Prudie. The cat meowed some sort of retort and made her way downstairs. Prudie followed. She tsked at this tableau with an affectionate smile and left the family to their rest. Between tending the baby, the animals and working on drawings to use as a portfolio, the Paynters despaired of Ross and Dem getting proper rest or sitting down for a proper meal. Ross and Demelza worked on their art with determination, even as they took turns minding Julia. If one was walking the floor with their teething daughter the other was hard at work drawing and painting. They ate in shifts, in snatches. They slept as they could, Julia often woke in the night but in this the Poldarks' life on the street, catching sleep when they could rather than a strict schedule assisted them. Prudie scolded them both that they'd not fare well as illustrators if they faded away from hunger. Prudie did not know how little food Ross and Dem lived on sometimes, in their travels and life on the street. Jud tsked tsked over Ross sleeping in the daytime, remaining up until the small hours of the morning drawing in the parlor. Jud did not know the ways Ross and Dem had caught sleep as they could, in their travels and life on the street. Ross spent the morning caring for Desdemona and Seamus and then conked out asleep until midafternoon, up late working on art as well as helping Dem with Julia if she woke overnight. Dem slept at night, ready to spring awake at their baby's command but often admonished back to bed by Ross who wanted Demelza better rested. Dem worked on her art as Ross slept, in the daytime, and sometimes had a paintbrush in one hand and Julia curled near in the other arm on her lap, singing to keep the child content and managing her responsibilities like an octopus or a many armed Hindu goddess. Garrick and Tabitha Bethia cycled among the pair of them. The cat would guard Ross as he slept, the dog would curl under Dem's chair as she worked. The Paynters looked askance at these things, but the rhythms of Ross and Dem's days were dictated by how much detail they could add to their work as they gave Julia and their animals as much loving attention as they could. They were perpetually dead tired and rarely went to bed at the same time but there was a joyful sort of exhilaration within the fatigue. They were happy. 

After two months of concerted effort, and a third month of bringing themselves into a less fraught arrangement; bringing their sleep and their meals back into normalcy to the Paynter's relief, having brought twelve of Ross' works and ten of Dem's to a high standard, Ross went to London to show their artwork to an agency. If they approved and accepted them, Ross and Dem would be part of the stable of artists that clients could choose from to serve their illustrative needs, added to the agency's roster of illustrators and perhaps get hired by clients for work. Ross clutched his folder in the midst of other artists. They sat in a row of wood frame upholstered chairs, thick cloth, nearly like burlap except for its vivid orange hue, on the seats. Ross was the youngest and a bit put out that the others waiting had very grand, leatherette portfolios, well constructed with a zipper to open and shut them, handled like a suitcase. Brown like congac, black like a bible. Elegant and serious. Ross held a flat, cardboard portfolio. It was covered in a black textured paper with the two sides joined together like a book spine with black cloth tape. It tied shut on three sides with short lengths of black woven ribbon. New, clean, not care worn but not possessing the gravitas of the others. These artists were old hands apparently. Older and at it for longer. Ross was nervous and suddenly wished he accepted Hugh's offer to wait inside with him. Ross was grateful for Hugh's offer but declined, worried he would look like a kid with a minder in tow but Ross started to wish he had a friend near. The other artists who sat in a self assured, aloof professionalism, the stark white walls hung with large, clean, modern silver picture frames surrounding the brightly colored posters of the agency's star illustrators made Ross feel a bit tatty, amateur, made him shift in his seat from doubt. 'A street rat in all things...' thought Ross, glumly. He held his and Dem's originals, the actual drawings in a modest folder, not photographs or printed samples. The receptionist asked him upon arriving if he had a promotional card to send in ahead of his appointment. Ross shook his head 'no' like a mute with a bit of chagrin. Ross and Demelza had no printed samples, no business cards, no polish, didn't know to want such things. Ross represented Dem as well for Julia was too young to be left behind in Cornwall. Hugh was willing have all three of them, willing to hire a babysitter but Ross and Dem were not comfortable with the idea. Ross stayed with Hugh in Hugh's London house, a grand place that still had the nursery room Hugh was raised in. It was unused for decades but Hugh was happy to offer it and a temporary nurse from a nanny agency while they were in town to show their artwork. The Poldarks thought it best to have Dem remain in Cornwall looking after their daughter and Ross stand in both their stead. Ross waited, dressed neatly in a white linen shirt, black pants and his black boots polished well, hair loose but combed into tidiness, clutching their work. He thought ruefully that he was a rat in all things, clearly not the same as these other waiting artists, but that did not make him less than them. At first dismayed by the elegant trappings and professionalism of the others around him Ross began to see the differences between them as unimportant. The others might have swanky portfolio cases, printed cards and more panache but he had twenty-two excellent artworks inside his modest folder. Ross shook his sense of discouragement, sat up straight, a tilt of his chin. Pride. The receptionist would see a confident artist bearing two strong portfolios of work. Ross _was_ a rat in all things, clever, resourceful, not backing down from a challenge or fight. He and Dem were good. It was not vanity to admit your strengths. Ross was a good guitarist and he knew that about himself. He and his wife were good, strong artists. Ross knew that too. He was younger and rough around the edges as he waited his turn but he and Dem were good artists, their works would speak for themselves.

"Ross Poldark?"

Ross nodded and went in. The office was large with the same white walls and large jewel colored posters in silver frames on the wall as the waiting vestibule. The windows let in a lot of light and London lay beyond them like miniatures in a toy train display. The walls at the back of the room were lined, waist high, with the same thin drawer cabinets that Brose had in his studio. Files that held artworks flat. A desk with two chairs for guests sat before them and near to the entrance a large, boardroom table lined with chairs. The man who shook Ross' hand had a crooked smile of amusement as he looked Ross up and down. They both seemed to know that the man considered Ross to be the bohemian sort. Ross smiled, he would stand or fall as he was. "Hello, sir." said Ross politely with a firm handshake." The man gestured at the wide expanse of clean, white tabletop. "Lay 'em out! Let's see what's what..." He returned to stand at the table as Ross untied the ribbons of the folder. The man crinkled his eyes. The kid was young with a pressed board portfolio. "Have you graduated, Mr. Poldark?" Ross looked at him confused. "From school...?" The man smiled warmly. 'This kid's got to still be at school...', thought the art director, 'Trying to get a foot in the door before he left art college...' He looked at the kid approvingly, 'A go getter, a kid who's not waiting around for opportunities...' Ross set the folder, untied but not open on the table. The man; hair greying at the temples, sharp grey eyes that scrutinized all through wire rimmed glasses, a dark purple v neck sweater vest over a crisp grey shirt, crisp black trousers, shiny black shoes, a watch that cost a pretty penny, conservatively dressed but the colors of his clothes more interesting than other businessmen would wear, grinned at Ross and Ross smiled back. He liked this gentleman, he was friendly. "You are still at art college?" Ross' eyes widened. 'Oh!,' thought Ross. 'Maybe they only take proper trained artists...?' Ross blinked himself into calm. He would see this through and not be cowed. "I am not at art college, sir. My wife and I had...' Ross paused, he wasn't above dressing things up a bit to sound better. "... private instruction in Paris, sir." The man's eyes widened. The picture was shifting. The young man had an upper class accent and 'private instruction'. In France? He's married? "You're married?!" asked the man. Ross' smile made the man laugh a little. This kid was used to being challenged over that fact for he held no offense and smiled at once. "Yes, sir. Half of these works are mine and half are my wife's, Demelza Poldark." The art director, intrigued by this strange kid watched Ross open the folder and lift aside the tissue paper that protected the drawings from rubbing against each other, releasing the first work at the top of the pile. The art director could just make out a smudgy bit of tattoo peeking out under a gold wedding band on his left hand. Expecting precocious but lacking student work, stodgy realism from this boy and dinky scribblings from his wife if they were both this young, the art director schooled his face to remain impassive. Ross looked up, watched the man view the work trying to pry any suggestions from the man's demeanor that they were not what would fit here, fit the needs of the agency. To Ross' mind, Dem's pictures were equal to any of the examples that hung along the walls, and he was no slouch if he said so himself... The art director had a poker face though. He looked through the work with a stony concentration that gave no hint of like or dislike. 'Perhaps that's better...' thought Ross. 'No false smiles, or compliments, all business...' Ross looked on, losing the ability to school his own face and look with hope writ across it.

"Come sit..." The art director gestured to the chairs at the desk and lifted the portfolio in both hands, open, to bring to the desk. Ross followed and sat down. The art director still stood, leafing again through the pictures. Not at all what he expected. Realism from the boy had exacting skill but a warm quality of emotion and movement in them. Fanciful bursts of colorful creativity from the absent wife. Extraordinary. There were concerns, but not of such importance to recommend them waiting. "You say you are in Cornwall...?" Ross nodded. "Yes sir, I am in London now staying with a friend but we live in Cornwall. Sir." The art director looked up briefly with a smile. He sirred him like the young kid he was. These kids had a maturity in their work that belied their ages. He sat down. He opened a drawer on his side of the desk and took out a wooden handled contraption of stiff rubber bands stretched upon a metal frame a little bigger than a matchbox. He began fiddling with the teeny knobs along the sides, aligning the bands with them to some end Ross could not understand. After a few minutes of this the man set it on the desk and began to discuss illustration, the vocation and profession of providing art to clients. He spoke of deadlines and reproduction, providing work that would be mechanically reproduced, for advertising, for books and magazines for print. He spoke of methods and art mediums. He admonished Ross and his wife to continue using bristol board rather than bonded illustration board that would separate in the reproduction process as it was one board fused atop another, suggested they favor the smooth texture of hot pressed Arches watercolor block rather than the pock textured cold pressed version as the small pools of color lying in the cold press paper might reproduce darker and take away from the delicacy of the wife's work in particular. He counseled the Poldarks to register themselves in the international directory not just the company's London one. "You both have strong individual styles but being out in Cornwall will limit your business here," said the art director. "People in the capital want quick turn around. They favor London based artists. But London art directors also pay attention to international listings. If you sign with this agency this month you both will be listed in the newest book. That won't ship to clients until January but I should think you both would receive interest and I am willing to suggest that you both join our roster of artists. Ross' eyes widened. They did it! He and Dem would be in a position to provide artwork for people and businesses that liked their style under the auspices of a proper agency! He sat forward and reached to shake the man's hand. "Thank you!" The art director nodded. Ross Poldark was young and he had not met the wife but they were very good and the kid listened carefully to his explanations, took his advice with seriousness and interjected questions and comment during their discussion that were intelligent, reasoned and mature. He and his wife deserved a shot. The art director did not want to wake up one day and see them working for a rival agency and know he could have had them. He would swoop down on these two and claim them out of the starting gate. Record companies and book publishers would eat up their work like candy, he was sure of it. Continental clients would definitely appreciate both their styles. The Francophone countries of course but Germany, Italy perhaps Spain, the Poldarks had the whimsical quality shot with sophistication that captivated those European buyers. He released Ross' hand. "You must leave two pieces with me. They will be photographed and returned to you. You have the right to keep your original artwork but we must photograph it for reproduction. Ross nodded. The man chose one piece of his and one of Dem's and used the device he took from the drawer to stamp "POLDARK", the address and name of the agency and the year on the back corner of both artworks. Ross sat up straighter, blinked his eyes in a sudden thought. The international directory was a compendium of many different agencies putting forth their commercial artists. "Sir! Do you have an international directory here? That I could view?" The man nodded 'Yes' and got up to bring a thick book, like a phone book, over from the top of a flat file drawer. "This is the most recent one..." It was page after page of examples of illustrators' artwork and the contact information to engage the artist's services. Ross thanked him and fumbled it open, flipping through it in his haste to find the "V" section. Hugh stuck his arm out of the car window and waved so Ross could see where he was parked on the street. He watched Ross barreling down the pavement, hugging his portfolio with a smile a mile wide. Hugh was certain the Poldarks were victorious, Ross looked delighted. "Hugh!! We did it! They will add both of us to their artist roster!" crowed Ross as he plunked himself in the passenger seat. "Congratulations, Ross! I could tell by the look on your face!" smiled Hugh. Ross' eyes shined with something else. "It's not just that, Hugh! They had an international directory! I found an address to write to Brose!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art School, The Jam 1977
> 
> Anything that you wanna do, anyplace that you wanna go  
> Don't need permission for everything that you want  
> Any taste that you feel is right  
> Wear any clothes just as long as they're bright  
> Say what you want, 'cos this is a new art school
> 
> Do what you want if it takes your mind  
> Better do it now, 'cos you won't have time  
> And never worry if people laugh at you  
> The fools only laugh 'cos they envy you
> 
> Time is motion and the hands are fast  
> Young words are mumbled, they don't always last  
> It's up to us to be sure they understand
> 
> Who makes the rules that make people select  
> Who is to judge that your ways are correct  
> The media as watchdog is absolute shit  
> The TV telling you what to think
> 
> Anything that you wanna do, anyplace that you wanna go  
> Don't need permission for everything that you want  
> Any taste that you feel is right  
> Wear any clothes just as long as they're bright  
> Say what you want 'cos this is a new art school


	70. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the fold

Ross and Dem were beside themselves. They hummed with excitement for weeks. The Paynters thought the Queen coming to call would be less excitement to them than a Dutch gentleman showing up to see Ross and Dem's lather of anticipation. They tended the animals and the baby, they cleaned the Gatehouse from top to bottom, they picked up Truro in both hands and shook it upside down until they found chocolate covered marzipan, going from shop to shop until they secured some for tea. And coffee. Jud looked askance as coffee was a strong smelling brew, not gentle and fragrant like tea. Ross and Dem made sure to have coffee and it's brewing implements at the ready. They would host their friend with as many creature comforts as they could provide. Turn about was fair play. The taxi came up the road and Ross bound out of the front door like a shot. Brose saw him from the car window and gasped. Ross had grown and he had a proper farmhouse with adjoining land in the distance. He jogged forward with a happy grin Brose could still see the face of child he'd known in Ross' grin and it charmed him. He had last seen his cats aged sixteen and fifteen. Ross was nineteen, tall, tiny bristles threatening the beginnings of a beard at his chin, still long haired, bright eyed and a sight for sore eyes. Brose did not hesitate. When he left the car having paid the driver and thanked him for removing his suitcase from the boot of the taxi, placing it on the ground, Brose picked up the plastic carrier that held his cat Mimi from the seat, letting it hang from one arm. The taxi drove off as Ross approached with open arms. Brose returned Ross' embrace with a happy, gentle smile with his free arm. "Ah! I had not expected such a tall cat." joked Brose, lightly. Ross did not speak right away, could not speak right away. The subtle scent of studio ephemera; turpentine, pigments, was a gentle perfume in Brose's clothes and Ross did cling to him like a kitten reunited with it's mother. Brose's care and regard meant a great deal to both of them. When Ross and Dem had been in dire straights in Paris, Brose helped them. He looked after them, he sheltered them, he nurtured them and they were grateful. Ross swallowed down a lump in his throat. Brose closed his eyes and rubbed Ross' back, he gave Ross a squeeze of a tighter hug realizing that this was their first actual embrace. They had not done so before. They sat close to each other, leaned near, were close in the time Ross and Dem lived in his Paris studio but Ambrose had not hugged Ross. He could feel Ross cling to him. He could feel how much joy Ross felt to be able to hug him. It was humbling and nice. Ambrose was not sure how they would meet after so much time apart and the kids more grown up now. "Oh Brose!" said Ross. "It's so good to see you!" Ross stepped back and admired him. The older man did not look changed. Brose was very much himself. Mimi meowed. "Mimi!" smiled Ross as green eyes blinked at him within the carrier. "I do hope she will like Tabitha Bethia! And Garrick! Come in! Come in! Dem and Julia are..." Ross was about to say, "inside", but Demelza called out "Brose!" already out the door and making up the space between them with their baby in her arms. Brose's mouth fell open as Ross looked between them with bashful pride. Brose watched a young lady who looked like his gamine little Dem, tall, graceful, hurrying forward with a baby in her arms. "Oh, my little..." sighed Ambrose. "You are a moeder! Mijn God, she looks just like you!" He turned to Ross, Brose looked astonished and proud. Proud of his young friends. "How you have _grown_!" He turned back to Dem and cupped his hand at her cheek. She closed her eyes and smiled like a flower blooming. Julia looked up at him, smiling. He rested his hand at her shoulder. "Mooi! Oh Dem, she is beautiful!" Dem stepped forward and hugged Brose with Julia between them and it was Brose's turn to swallow down a lump in his throat. Dem's pretty red hair free and longer, the luxury of her freedom, free to look like a young woman, her face near his own, the baby's small head by his chin. His little cats... He had feared for Ross and Dem when they parted in France. Hoped for them. Hoped that they would not fall prey to the dangers that could befall young people wandering about on their own. They were grown, married and thriving in England, living in proper home with their baby. They remained in that web. They stood admiring each other. Ross and Dem and Ambrose happy to be reunited and proud. Proud to be friends, to have come through their time on the street and have Brose happy for them, proud to host their dear friend with the same generosity he had given them. The Paynters watched from the front door. The man was older, they'd half expected someone nearer to Ross and Dem's age the way they went on about him. He had looked after Master Ross and the embrace Ross gave him was proof to the Paynters that this "Brose" was a good'un. He had been a good friend to them and that made him alright with them.

Tabitha Bethia and Mimi sat in a sort of elegant, cat salon. Swishing their tails in a languid manner as they sat by the unlit hearth in the parlor. They may well have been discussing the various stories of their travels and their relationship to their human kittens, Mimi secure in her Parisian charges and Tabitha Bethia regaling her guest with her Italian exploits culminating in their move to Cornwall. Garrick left them to it. The white cat had a pleasant attitude and an artistic temperament. He did not feel the iciness from her that some cats he had come across in his travels had for all she was bone white and watched everything in an amused, self satisfied gaze with piercing green eyes. Garrick had plenty of attention as he sat near the visiting human. He was friendly and, like Dem Demelza Sweetness My Love and Ross did not favor cats over dogs. He was as nice to Garrick as the cats as he chatted quietly and laughed and smiled with pride and admiration as they shared stories of what had gone on in the time they were apart.

"You were in jail!? They arrested you!?"

Brose's eyebrows, still the only aspect of him that remained unkempt compared to the neatness of the rest of him, longer white hairs growing from their darker fellows in strange directions, nearly raised off his face. The Poldarks laughed, nodding their heads earnestly. He rubbed his thumb over the stars tattooed on their fingers, their wedding rings in a solemn benediction over them. They looked to him, vulnerable and wanting his approval. He held their hands tight. They could feel his approval. They had not wasted the gifts and advice Brose gave them. Ross saved his lips for Dem. They took his admonishment to keep drawing seriously. They were just starting out as commercial artists and he blessed their tattoos, their union and their lifestyle with a gentle squeeze of their hands, three hands together. He was proud of them and they were happy for it. He was very moved by the story. And very amused by the tale of their rings. His whim to place an image of Ross, Dem and Mimi in a Dutch cocoa advertisement had captured the imagination of Salvador Dali and brought adventure and good fortune to them. They had been apart, he in the Netherlands and the Poldarks in France but he had still assisted them in a way. The Paynters were agog. Ross and his wife had a deal of strange and wonderful stories of their time together before Master Ross returned home. They drank tea. Brose lauded them for a fine cup of coffee for doesn't coffee taste its best when it is made with love?

Brose stayed at the Gatehouse and fell into the rhythm of life at Nampara in his week long stay. He played whist with Jud. He bounced Julia on his knee whispering dutch nursery rhymes like a secret language between them. He met Desdemona and even rode Seamus, an invigorating novelty, he had not ridden on a horse in years. He watched Ross and Dem at their work, with the animals, with their daughter. He regaled Prudie with stories of the places he had been as she puttered about the kitchen while he drank his coffee at a leisurely pace. He drew all of them in his sketchbook. He drew many studies of Julia in small vignettes among four pages. Awake, asleep, with her parents and apart. He drew the animals and took long walks enjoying the beauty of Nampara Cove and often sharing his rambles with an excitable Garrick at his side and an impromptu game of fetch with what driftwood lay about. They enjoyed meals altogether, full of talk and laughter and the visit made all of them very happy. He viewed the Poldarks' artwork and all three felt the satisfaction of knowing the work was good. The time was coming near for Brose to leave but one more wonderful moment was yet to come. Dwight and Caroline were due to arrive at Killewarren tomorrow. Hugh and his uncle would be at Tregothan, where Hugh's mother lived tonight. The Trenwith Poldarks had returned an enthusiast 'Yes!' to their invitation to dinner. Ross and Dem were practically dancing with happiness for their grown up friends and Ross' uncle and cousins would dine with them and meet each other. Cornwall and Paris and Positano, all their ramblings coalesced in one beautiful night with Julia able to meet them all too.

"Dem!" cried Caroline. "She looks just like you! Oh my dear!" Dwight and Caroline hurried to greet Ross and Dem. Caroline got to Dem first. "Oh my dears! Hello, Julia!" Caroline lifted her out of Dem's arms and Demelza watched happily as she and Dwight admired the baby blinking up at them, good as gold. "She's beautiful!" said Dwight. "Well done, you two!" Ross and Dwight hugged with good natured claps on the back. Dem smiled warmly. "Come in! Brose and Ross' uncle and cousins are in the parlor!" She walked alongside Caroline who bore Julia inside like the fairy godmother she considered herself to be. The Poldarks were a loving couple and Julia's conception might well have happened in any case but Caroline reserved the right to believe that a well timed cream cake might have tipped the scales in their favor and felt some sense of satisfaction in the idea. "Hello!" said Dwight, entering the parlor to the greetings of the others. The Enyses had not met them but they deciphered at once warm hearted Verity, the laid back good humor of Francis, Uncle Charles, a strong hint of Ross' side of the family clear on his face, and Brose. Having been regaled with tales of life in an artist's garret and Ambrose van der Bezige's guardianship of the Poldarks in their hour of need, the Eynses could not bring themselves to address him as anything else. Introductions ensued. As they shook hands and enjoyed the strange feeling of half knowing each other through Ross and Dem's stories the doorknocker sounded. Ross popped out to greet the final brace of guests. "Hugh! Lord Falmouth!" Ross looked on in happy surprise. Hugh's mother had joined them. Hugh grinned. "Lady Armitage!" Ross stepped back and bowed. "Welcome to Nampara, Lady Armitage," he moved to shake her hand. "Thank you, Ross." said Lady Armitage. Hugh's mother shook his hand and smiled at Ross in the frosty way women of her station and generation often did. It was subtle but Lord Falmouth and Hugh saw her smitten with Ross, she had come to like the Poldarks. She deigned to meet Julia in a house she had told Hugh she'd never set foot in because of Joshua Poldark's notorious scandals. The young people had charmed her too. Ross gestured them in, shook Lord Falmouth's hand and shared a smile of satisfaction. The Lord of the Fal had tidied up all the legal loose ends and restored Ross, Dem and all their animals to Ross' ancestral home, modest and homespun but no less than a place like Tregothan or Lord Falmouth's villa. The Poldarks were home and blessed it with new life to boot. Ross and Hugh shared a happy grin. They went to the parlor, bringing up the rear behind Lady Armitage and Lord Falmouth. "Brose!" announced Lord Falmouth broadly as he entered the room. Brose looked to him in amusement. "You have the advantage, sir..." said Brose in a droll tone of voice. Lord Falmouth grinned. "Ross and Dem have told me so much about you and Mimi I feel I can call you nothing else but 'Brose'. You trained up our two adventurers into artists of high caliber!" Ross and Dem looked on with pride as a murmur of agreement and appreciation hummed in the room. Brose nodded with a smile and a pleasant visit began, introductions and smiles and a dandled baby passed from arms to laps and arms again. Talk and laughter and the expansion of friendship that linked Ross and Dem's different relationships together. Uncle Charles was in clover. His nephew had assembled his dearest friends who just happened to include Hugh Armitage with his mother, Lady Armitage and his uncle, Lord Falmouth. Ross and his young wife were in thick with the two most rarified families in the district! Three, for Lady Armitage had been a Boscawen! Lord Falmouth was admiring Ross' baby girl like, well, like an uncle! Verity was taken by the Eynses. Dwight's modest, good natured personality, Caroline's vivacious enthusiasm, so like the girls Verity knew at school, so wealthy that all life seemed a game but tempered by a true warmth of spirit that so many of those other girls lacked. Lady Armitage had the formality of her station in life at her back but she enjoyed meeting Julia and seeing the strong friendship between her son, her brother in law and the Enyses. The depth of feeling and affection with which Ross and Dem valued their guest of honor, a Dutch artist. She could admit Hugh was right. She did like the Poldarks, she was amused to have eaten her words. She was a guest at Nampara House, of her own volition, among the Trenwith side as well, witnessing Joshua Poldark's son, a long haired boy with a tattoo on his hand, hosting his guests as only a young Master of Ancient Name could; faultless in his manners and loving towards his wife, his child and their friends, all so different from each other and all bound tightly in their regard for the young couple. Hugh always spoke of the Poldarks with the affection of a true friend and it charmed her to see her brother in law as taken with them. The Poldarks were more than their checkered reputation. Francis enjoyed himself emensely. Dwight, Hugh, Brose and Lord Falmouth couldn't be anymore different from each other but they were firm friends to his cousins and good fun. Caroline was a sharp wit with the same cool humor he favored himself and Dem was a wonderful girl. Ross chose well when he picked her to wed. There was a quality of freshness in their union that was magical and made even these different sorts of people fast friends. Prudie entered and took in the scene before announcing dinner. Young Ross was happy. That might seem like a small thing but it meant a great deal to Prudie. Master Ross, after so many heart breaks and sad times and arguments; the death of Ross' father, having met his reward without knowing what happened to his son, wondering if the lad was even alive, he was here. Ross was home and happy with a loving wife, their daughter, closer to the Trenwith relatives than his parents had been and now so many friends. There had not been such laughter and talk in Nampara like this since Mistress Grace was alive. The house was vibrant again. What a blessing.

"Dinner be ready!"

Ross looked up at Prudie, as did all, smiles all round. "Thank you, Prudie!" said Ross. They had a fine meal with talk and laughter. Julia was put to bed and visiting resumed in the parlor. Lord Falmouth and Ambrose started a game of chess, a tight game of equals made slower by talking of this and that. Dessert was served and a nightcap too. They were still at it. Brose suggested the game finish to completion at the Gatehouse, it would be quiet there as the vibrant, happy chatter of the others would continue in the parlor. This was agreed to. Hugh drove his mother back to Tregothan and returned. They all spent a happy time in the parlor. Charles took his leave and went home. The visit continued with the younger set; Caroline, Dwight, Hugh, Verity and Francis talking with Ross and Dem with stories and fun and a deepening of affection between them all. Francis wagered with Hugh that Brose would win the chess match and there was good natured laughing when it turned out Lord Falmouth won. Everyone took their leave, promising to return to do this again sometime, exclaiming how nice it was to finally meet, the slow leave taking of friends who value their friends.

There are currents and undercurrents. There are tides and occasionally the phenomenon of rip current and the water's own strength pulling a body under inspite of one's self. No swimstroke or show of resistance can be proof against this undertow, it simply claims you and pulls you down to the depths. Living in sight of the sea often prepares you for these natural occurrences. Ross ever lived in sight of the sea. Knew its moods and beauty and occasional dangers. Even Ross had not foreseen what happened next but he welcomed it with open arms for Brose, having gone back to Holland, wrote to the Poldarks five months later, asking to stay with them. He, all things considered, enjoyed their visit and after careful weighing of options wished to come to Cornwall again. Dem dropped her paintbrush in surprise. "Read it again Ross!" she said, her fingers pressed to her mouth in shock. Ross grinned over the paper, laying nearby on the sofa with Julia laying on his chest, sleeping with her hand curled at her mouth like a tiny walnut. "'Having the skill at least to make tea, I don't doubt I shall make a sensible English person. If I may lean upon your friendship once more I may well learn to make a passable English person. The visa allows a stay of three months...'" Ross smiled at Dem. "We can give him the Gatehouse for three months, surely?! Brose wants to stay with us again! Julia will know him better too, know him properly!" Dem sat back in her chair, thinking. Ross knit his brows, watching her. Dem often saw layers within facts he could not. "What?!" asked Ross. Dem stared into space, thinking. "Brose mentioned a three month visa, but he's talking of 'being English'," Dem turned in her chair to look at Ross. "Brose wouldn't overstay... Why should he 'be English'...?" Ross considered this. He and Dem entered Italy on false passports with every intention of overstaying their three month visa, illegally, before George Warleggan harassed them out of the folly. Dem was correct. Brose was a proper grown up. He went back to Holland once his visa was up when they knew him in Paris. Three months doesn't denote a changing of nationality...? Brose was having two conversations in this letter but the Poldarks couldn't work out what the second one meant. Ambrose was a Dutchman, through and through. Why should he want to be 'English'? Ross and Demelza considered these mysteries but wrote back at once, unreservedly, inviting him to stay with them with the Gatehouse at his disposal. Thus began a second wing of the Nampara Poldark family. Ambrose and Mimi became family. A treasured friend to Ross and Dem, an uncle to the Poldark children, a pleasant bloke to chat with in the day to day life of the Paynters and, both man and cat, friends to the Poldarks' animals. Three months, spring to summer, Brose stayed with the Poldarks and joined the rhythm of life at Nampara. When Ross and Dem finally braved their nervous fears and formally took the legal steps to board minor age children on their land they became his employers who vouched for the right of Mr. Ambrose van der Bezige to have a work visa instructing their farm hands in drawing and allowing him to live with them semi permanently. This arrangement also brought a closer relationship to Tregothan than the Poldarks had forseen when they answered the letter. Lord Falmouth remained in residence at Tregothan with his sister in law, Lady Armitage, leaving Italy for three months of the year, quite in tandem with Brose's stay at Nampara. The Poldarks became more frequent guests of Lady Armitage and the Lord of the Fal at Tregothan, even when Hugh was away in Italy or London. This pleased Uncle Charles to no end, that his nephew should be intimate friends with the highest height of families in the area. Brose was often a visitor to Tregothan as well. He would not perhaps be mistaken for an Englishman but he became very used to the habits and rituals of grand English houses through this close proximity. He became as much at home at Tregothan as Nampara. Once Wellington boots, reserved for Brose's use alone, were installed in permanent residence in the Tregothan mud room it became clear to Ross, Dem and Hugh that a subtle but strong link had formed between their family's houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Letter, The Box Tops 1967
> 
> Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane  
> Ain't got time to take a fast train  
> Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
> My baby, just a wrote me a letter
> 
> I don't care how much money I gotta spend  
> Got to get back to my baby again  
> Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
> My baby, just-a wrote me a letter
> 
> Well, she wrote me a letter  
> Said she couldn't live without me no more  
> Listen mister, can't you see I got to get back  
> To my baby once-a more  
> Anyway, yeah
> 
> Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane  
> Ain't got time to take a fast train  
> Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
> My baby, just-a wrote me a letter
> 
> Well, she wrote me a letter  
> Said she couldn't live without me no more  
> Listen mister, can't you see I got to get back  
> To my baby once-a more  
> Anyway, yeah
> 
> Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane  
> Ain't got time to take a fast train  
> Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home  
> My baby, just-a wrote me a letter, my baby just-a wrote me a letter
> 
> Mooi: beautiful
> 
> No swimstroke or show of resistance can be proof against this undertow: that is wonderfully dramatic and suggests how love's passion can overtake people. In truth you can float until the rip current subsidies or exit the rip by swimming at a right angle to the flow, parallel to the beach. It is panicking, thrashing around and trying to swim against the flow that gets people into danger in rip currents.


	71. The Morning Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family

"You remember! You do! You do!" said Julia, giggling. Brose turned from wiping clean the brush in his hands over the sink. "Oh," he huffed in a teasing way, "Oh that was much too long ago... How long that was..." He smiled indulgently. Julia had her parents' features in her face very clearly. Her mother's bright hair surrounding her father's bright eyes, her mother's happy smile. A strange mixture of her father and mother and an x equation entirely her own, the 'Julianess' of her. "Brose!" She scolded. He smiled over his stained rag and paintbrush. "You must remind me, how does it go?" teased Brose. She lay on her back, on the braided rug of the Gatehouse in the hyper fidget of a young child. From this vantage point she saw the dreaming wooden lady and the lightbulb that grew out of her head within the inside of the lampshade. "It was a dark and stormy night!" she crowed. "Ah! Ah, yes," said Brose, as if his memory had returned. "And two cats were walking on the roof of my studio..." began Brose. Julia giggled. Her prompt had worked. He smiled at her, wriggling on the rug, gleeful to hear the story. Energetic and sweet. "And they looked down into the skylight and thought, 'That looks like a nice place for cats to stay out of the rain! We should do that!'" Julia, very familiar with the story shouted, "And they opened the skylight and fell in topsy turvy!" Brose nodded. "They fell in, topsy turvy, with a loud thump! And I said," Julia took up the well worn story once more, pointing up at the dreaming lady as she crowed, "'Oh my! Who could that be in my studio! And I turned on the lamp to see!'" Brose chuckled. "Yes, and I turned on the lamp to see who it could be. Who are these cats falling topsy turvy into my studio? And I found to my surprise they were not cats after all!" He went back to the sink to wash his hands with pumace soap. Julia smiled telling the tale in the excitement of a story she knew well. "They weren't cats! They were Mama and Papa!" He nodded with a warm smile as he put the brush in a tin that held its fellows. "It was your Mama and Papa. And I said," She giggled. "'Hello! Won't you stay to tea?'" laughed Julia. Brose dried his hands. "Yes, my little. I asked them to stay and they said yes. Your moeder and vader stayed in my studio and we became good friends." He offered his hand, to help her up. "And talking of tea, we must go to the house now. Mrs. Paynter will have your milk waiting, my little." And Julia took his hand and skipped alongside Uncle Brose as he walked her back to the house and into the kitchen. "Prudie!" called Julia, "Is it teatime?" She released Brose's hand and climbed onto a chair at the kitchen table. Prudie dried her hands with a dish towel with a welcoming smile. "Aye, maid. It be time for your milk an' all. Afternoon, Sir." said Prudie, cheerfully. Brose nodded. "Good day, Mrs. Paynter." They had settled upon 'Sir'. 'Brose' seemed too informal to Prudie but she also felt 'Mr. van der Bezige' to be far too much of a mouthful. "Ee off t'Tregothan then...?" Brose and Prudie exchanged their 'Tregothan face'. Julia was never quite sure what this look between them meant. It was happy, a little secretive. A secret that grown ups know without having to say. She wondered if there was some wonderful grown up secret at Uncle Hugh's house. Maybe lollipops grew out of pots in the conservatory, or some marvelous party happened after children like her were sent to bed. "Yes, I return on Saturday," here he turned to Julia. "You will have a present from your Uncle Hugh on Saturday, my little. There will be one for you and one for the baby..." Julia gave a contented smile. It was nice being a big sister and nice to have so many cousins and uncles and aunts and Jud and Prudie. Julia, baby Jeremy upstairs, as well as those yet to be born, all grew up in a strong, loving family among houses that they came to know like the back of their hands and love dearly. Their beloved Nampara was their home but they had a sense of home in other places too, filled with family and friendship. They enjoyed Christmases at Trenwith, and Easter lunch at Tregothan. Summer parties at Killewarren and happy hours in the Gatehouse with its calming scent of oil paints, pigments and turpentine. The Poldark children had strong roots in Cornwall, a happy life in Nampara with its pretty beach and the organic farm that employed many at risk kids in the surrounding area. It spared twenty kids from the care homes in Truro each summer for there was a "U" shaped dormitory. One wing for girls and one for boys, to wash and to sleep and the middle to have meals and learn lessons taught by a local woman, Mrs. Kemp, reading and writing and drawing by a Dutch gentleman named Mr. van der Bezige. The young workers learned how to care for apple trees, how to harvest fruit and vegetables. They had three hours of formal schooling each day, worked in the fields and orchard, ate communally with the owners and had summer fun on the compound's adjoining private beach. Julia drank her milk and ate a scone from the batch Prudie baked earlier. Brose, ordinarily would sit and have coffee but he took his leave to retrieve his bag and await the car that would bring him to Tregothan.

On Saturday morning, a mist lay about the grounds of Tregothan. Lord Falmouth was up with the lark, with Brose in tow. Brose had become a frequent enough guest that Wellington boots reserved for him stood in the mud room and he wore them in the damp grass this early morning. The two men were quiet but it was not for lack of things to say. The silence between them stemmed from a sympathy of personality that made them good friends. Having reached a portion of stone fence, the sculpted grounds of Tregothan just visible in the morning fog beyond, they leaned against it in a morning's meditation, a silence. There was room for silence. "Mama? Are the deer out there again?" Yawned Hugh as he entered the morning room. Early enough that breakfast was not laid. Lady Armitage was looking out at the grounds. Hugh favored his father in looks but a smidgen of Boscawen, his mother's side, could be seen in him when they stood near each other. She wore a midi plaid skirt and a fine knit rollneck to match the contrast in the plaid, light blue this morning. Her shoes were dark blue with a brass bit across the front. The fine wrinkles at her mouth, at her eyes brought a queenly look to her face, a seriousness that demanded respect. Her hair had the sculpted swirl and wave of a lady who lunched for Lady Armitage inhabited her world thoroughly. Born to wealth, married wealth and widowed in the secure position of her title and its largesse. Lady of the manor. She had a smile for her son as he entered but Hugh could see she was distracted. "Good morning my dear. No, it's just quite misty this morning..." She turned from the window, settled the drapery to hang properly. She cleared her throat. "Your uncle is up already," Hugh gave an affectionate snort of a laugh. "Which one?" At this his mother rolled her eyes. "Oh darling, really!" Hugh blinked a mischief at her. Much was unsaid in recent months but had been synthesized into a common knowledge between Hugh and Mama and Hugh's uncle... That Lord Falmouth had deigned to decamp to Tregothan twice this year, he who was so often a homebody in his Italian villa, made it plain that the situation between her brother in law and his companion had quickened into some sort of seriousness. "I do wish he would be more discrete, the servants are so often about." She said primly. Hugh raised his eyebrows. " _Really_...?" The amused, suggestive tone in her son's voice irritated her. She huffed an annoyed scold. "Don't use that tone of voice..." Hugh fought a smile. Mama was trying to be open minded for all her conservative upbringing. Hugh spoke lightly. "It's early enough they should come to no harm." Then he chuckled. "And really, If you can't have a snog on your own property..." She crossed her arms. "Lord Falmouth certainly is not... Not doing _that_ out on the grounds! How can you say such things!?" Hugh came to stand by her. He could hear the tense irritation, the incredulity that he had not just been flippant but too direct in his comment. He sought to apologise. Their's was not a particularly demonstrative family, not a hugging sort of family. "Forgive me, Mama, I did not meant to upset you. I'm sorry." Hugh let his hand rest on his mother's shoulder with a look of sympathy she appreciated. He pulled a small portion of the curtain aside. They could see Uncle. They could see Ambrose. The fog was not so dense that they could not be picked out in silhouette. Perhaps they were talking. Perhaps the physicality of their closeness could be seen as intimate. Hugh shut the drape once more. "They are two friends having a chat, they are deep in conversation and that's that. Uncle is careful enough in his own way. _We_ know there's more to it but it's not as if others will suss it out. As you say, they don't make a show of it..." She looked disgruntled but had to admit Hugh was correct. Her nervousness over the idle talk of others wasn't silly though, gossip was such a pastime in the district. "I suppose you're right. I just worry, you know how people talk!" Hugh nodded. "I do understand, Mama. More to the point, so do they! They have a stake in their discretion too." He smiled. "We must have a united front, Mama. Uncle is walking the grounds with our house guest and there is no hint of scandal. If we behave as normal who's to point a finger?" Lady Armitage sighed. In these sorts of conversations Hugh always carried guns that were to big for her. She saw, she felt but she could not reason it out to prove him wrong. "We rule here, Mama." said Hugh in a matter of fact tone. "It is our behavior that shows others how to view these things. Ambrose and Uncle are good friends. If they stand near, if they pay each other attention that's simply a mark of their friendship. Yes?" She sighed. "I suppose you're right..."

At five o clock, Lady Armitage conveyed by her driver and Lord Falmouth and Ambrose driven by Hugh went to dine at Nampara. A finely crafted hobby horse with a dark blue, velvet face and a black satin fringe of twisted tassels for a mane. Silver thread marked out its eyes and mouth and the stout broom handle was just the right height for an active little girl like Julia. A stuffed elephant with cheerful black eyes, destined to be Jeremy Poldark's companion, sat in obedience in paper tissue and a white gift box was also conveyed in Hugh's car. They talked of this and that. The property came into view. Cars were already parked in front of the house. Uncle Charles, Francis and Verity had already arrived from Trenwith. Dwight and Caroline were inside already too. It would be a housefull tonight. Dem and Ross were ready to have everyone meet Jeremy, the newest Poldark. Dem felt stronger, recovered from giving birth and the harvesting had not begun so the dorms were closed. There was space and time for a family party and Ross waved from the doorway having heard more vehicles out front. "Hello, Lady Armitage! Lord Falmouth!" They exchanged their cheerful greetings, bearing their own presents for the children, and went in. Hugh and Brose approached and Ross grinned. "Hello, Hugh! Going riding?" Hugh shook the hobby horse to let the mane flop about. They clasped hands with affection and the subtle knowledge that a sort of siblinghood existed between them now. He entered. Ross smiled at Brose, "Was your visit nice, Brose?" The look between them was very warm. "Yes. Thank you, Ross." And Ross lay a hand on Brose's shoulder as they went in and Ross shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Morning Fog, Kate Bush 1985
> 
> The light  
> Begin to bleed  
> Begin to breathe  
> Begin to speak  
> D'you know what?  
> I love you better now
> 
> I am falling  
> Like a stone  
> Like a storm  
> Being born again  
> Into the sweet morning fog
> 
> D'you know what?  
> I love you better now
> 
> I'm falling  
> And I'd love to hold you know  
> I'll kiss the ground  
> I'll tell my mother
> 
> I'll tell my father  
> I'll tell my loved one  
> I'll tell my brothers  
> How much I love them
> 
> moeder and vader: Dutch for mother and father 
> 
> A snog: a kiss
> 
> Hugh's comments, "Which one?", suggesting that Brose is a second uncle for his status, had he been a woman, would be an aunt and suggesting that his uncle should be able to kiss his boyfriend on his own land, is tolerant, affectionate and progressive. His mother is shocked by his teasing remarks. It is the 1970s now. The stigma of being gay as "unnatural" and viewed with disapproval is still current though society is starting to change. Homosexuality was decriminalized in England and Wales in 1967 (Scotland in 1981, N. Ireland in 1982). Hugh's suggestion that the two men should kiss at all is hard for Lady Armitage to deal with, let alone out where people could see. She is trying to be open minded. She and Hugh, who were not privy to the Lord of the Fal's reason for his secluded bachelorhood before he took the plunge with Brose, both want happiness for Lord Falmouth. She likes Brose too.


	72. All You Need Is Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noticed  
> 1982

Uncle Charles was beside himself. Puffed with pride. Trenwith was humming with police and a road block was ordered, just past Sawle, to keep the media and onlookers at the roadside and not progress to Nampara or his estate. A marvelous tea was laid as a buffet for a party. The photographer hired to document the day was discreet and polite. Lady Armitage, when approached to lend Tregothan for the day by the Palace, having knowledge of the grand house and previous relationships over the years with their family, recommended Trenwith as more suitable in its 17th century lineage and closer to Nampara even leaving aside the familial relationship as uncle to Ross Poldark, proprietor, along with his wife, of Palmier Farm. It's modest mission successfully realized for four years and celebrating beginning it's fifth season today, boarded twenty at risk kids each summer and offered them a liberal arts education for three hours a day, provided hands on training in agricultural skills on their organic farm and a communal life with fun to be had on a stretch of privately owned beach. Charles was pleased as Punch for after his nephew and his wife showed the Princess of Wales their organic farm and the latest cohort of young workers for the season, they would all take tea at Trenwith before Princess Diana took leave of the area.

Prudie looked everything over for the umpteenth time. Jud let her be. Ordinary he would insist she was fretting herself silly over nothing but a royal visit didn't happen every day. It would be just his luck to insist she relax and then one thing or another would be out of place and he'd hear about it for the rest of his days, that such and such was askew and Princess Diana saw! You never saw such a dido. Dem came into the parlor, exchanged a look of agreement with Prudie that all was well and then skipped, literally skipped out the front door to check on the dorms. Detectives nodded towards Mrs. Poldark as she sped up and ran to the direction of the dormitories. They had become used to seeing the young redhead, tying hair ribbons in her daughter's hair, straightening her son's hair, (as long as a girl's!), running here, skipping like a child hither and tither. The owners of the property looked nearly as young as their farm hands and the wife flit about in an energetic happiness that officers and bodyguards rarely saw during an official visit that was charming. Ross, owner with his wife of Palmier Farm, sat up on a post rail fence talking quietly with the boys who looked upon this visit and its "bow and scrape to yer betters" dog and pony show with cynicism. Why should they bow and scrape to a princess who would pat them on their heads and then go on her merry way, forgetting she was even here as she gadded off to have tea with the worthies elsewhere? Why grin like a fool for the rich bastards? Ross listened. Nodded, letting him know he understood their attitude but then answered, quietly, "It's a visit that means a lot to Palmier Farm. Having a royal visit means people will hear of us and perhaps seek to help us with donations," he looked them all in the eye. These kids had been out on the street like he and Dem had been. "We used to busk," said Ross, and they nodded. Ross and Dem were half do gooders and half rats. The kids trusted Mr. and Mrs. Poldark when they were often suspicious of grown ups because they had lived on the streets and knew the score. They even got their hands tattooed in a Paris jail. Ross and Dem often acted like a proper grown ups and scolded and lectured and warned them to better themselves like do gooders but the kids had cause to trust and listen and even take that advice because the Poldarks had walked the walk. They trained them to work on farms, helped them better their reading and writing, taught them about art and ideas and looking at life differently, using boring things like school to your own advantage. Making your own way of things and having credit in the straight world. "I knew how many francs it would take to keep us indoors. Busking would feed us but it wouldn't get Dem and me off the street in the winter. We picked up work in the big food hall in Paris to save up against winter." He looked from eye to eye. "We got scut work, cash in hand, under the table, anything else and we'd get deported. Dem and I were underground..." They kids nodded. "That money gave us shelter. We watched rich people snap their fingers and buy food and wine for one meal that would keep a rat indoors for _weeks_! It was easy to be angry at the rich but those people spending their money was exactly how we got paid each day." Ross looked at the kids in seriousness. The girls were starry eyed to meet the young princess, the boys needed to behave politely for the sake of the farm even if it seemed silly to them. "Here, in Palmier, we are in the straight world." Ross paused for emphasis. "We pay taxes, we apply for grants, we accept donations, we follow ALL the rules. To do anything else, cut corners or cheat means that we will be shut down." Ross came off the fence. Stood among them. "Princess Diana's visit us means we will have more people hear of us and perhaps choose to donate too." One boy gave a snort. "So we have to kiss their arse for money?" Ross smiled, looked at them all seriously. "Yes." said Mr. Poldark and he let it sink in. "Here, at Palmier, selling the produce is "busking". We do make money selling the apples, selling the veg, but it's a drop in the bucket." He looked at them sternly. "If it were down to us, Dem and I would have fifty of you here a season, helping us, learning with us on this farm. We can only afford twenty beds. Your board, the equipment, insurance, paying Mrs. Kemp and Mr. van der Bezige, petrol for the vans, for the truck, everything costs money and it's hard graft. Grants and people's generosity is how Dem and I can have you here and situations like photos with the princess are part of that. We are part of the straight world and the straight world is part of us." Ross continued. "You do not have to stand about smiling fake smiles. I do not want that. I don't want a farce. You don't have to like this visit but you do have to be respectful and serious. If you have learned anything here that you are happy to have learned, that is useful to you, something that you enjoyed, we were able to give that to you with the assistance of 'rich bastards'. If we are to continue doing this work we need you to help us by being polite and respectful today. You will be helping other kids have their chance to be here and helping Dem and me. Understand?" They nodded. "And don't tease the girls!" smiled Ross. "They've been living for this afternoon ever since they were told!" There were snickers but the lads agreed. Ross and Dem gave them work, school that wasn't bollocks and a fun summer instead of being stuck in the care homes around the area. More crucial, the Poldarks gave them a listening ear and respect. They listened and gave them the sort of attention they had never experienced before. That meant a lot even to the hardest cases here. They could give Ross what he was asking for. It was rich bastards paying one way or another, anyway one sliced it, when you were in care, but they could mind their p's and q's for the day. Mr. Poldark made his point and they accepted it.

The girls, on the other hand, would be hard pressed to stop smiling. Dem led them to the front gate, the public entrance by the orchard to await the motorcade. A sign Dem painted herself was attached to posts in the ground, a puff pastry with its ends curled towards its middle that said, simply,

Palmier Farm

Ross and Dem Poldark,

proprietors

The boys joined them, wisecracking as always but ready to be team players too. Ross walked Desdemona to the fence as well, today resplendent with a wreath of flowers over her neck. He kissed her forehead and complimented her on being as pretty as a princess herself. Prudie and Jud watched from the front of the house charged with watching Julia and Jeremy who looked on in hyper excitement as the cars drove forward in a line and the princess walked to meet Mama, Papa and all their farm friends. She wore a pretty dress and a pretty hat and Wellington boots to tromp about the property properly. The boys were startled to be asked what they like about the farm by a young princess that listened carefully to each of them and talked about their answers. She spoke to the girls as well and they posed for a picture surrounding Ross and Dem and the princess with Desdemona's floral wreathed head centered over the Palmier sign. The kids showed her their dorms and then were allowed to ready themselves to go to Trenwith for the tea party with the Poldarks and Princess Diana to follow after they showed her other parts of the farm. They spoke of their organic farm and the young people who stayed with them. They showed the princess Seamus and the orchard as well as explaining why they had stars on their fingers and the various grants and generous donations that helped them keep going. "We remain a small concern." explained Dem. "Our banker is local, Pascoe. He has been able to help us connect with grants and awards that have given us the means to enter our fifth year." Dem said proudly. "Yes," said Ross. "Many British companies and charitable trusts make time for schemes of our size. It makes a difference. When they search off the beaten path they end up finding people like us. They help us help others..." The princess nodded. "You've been an inspiration to many, my husband was quite taken with your mission when he was told of it..." Ross and Dem's eyebrows raised. Dem asked, astonished, "Is that how you came to be here? Prince Charles was told of our farm scheme?" Her Royal Highness nodded. "Yes, he is very interested in organic farming and an acquaintance mentioned your farm as an example of using organic farming for a good cause. Helping young people learn struck me as a wonderful use of your land and your time." The Poldarks thanked her and introduced her to their teachers Mrs. Kemp, Brose, and then the Paynters, Julia and Jeremy. Having met and shook hands with all, the princess departed for Trenwith and they made ready to go themselves. The tea party was in full swing when the Poldarks arrived. Princess Diana, restored to elegant court shoes that matched her ensemble, charmed everyone. She was as able to talk to the boys and girls about pop music as Uncle Charles about Trenwith's grandure. She spoke with Verity and Francis, Brose and Lady Armitage, Mrs. Kemp and spoke to Julia and Jeremy with the same attention she would give an adult. At length, the time had come to depart. They waved good bye as the line of cars sailed off and suddenly life was quiet once more. "Well!" said Charles, so proud he might levitate in air. "I think she won't forget Trenwith in a hurry!" Verity smiled. "Congratulations, Father. The day went wonderfully well!" She and Francis grinned as Charles said, "It did didn't it?"

They kept to the holiday atmosphere. The kids went to the Cove. They had a bonfire and roasted sausages, had a sing song as the sun got lower in the sky. Ross played his guitar with Garrick curled near among sandy towels and the kids, well fed, deliciously tired from playing in the sea and running about rather than farm work today. Dem, having given Julia and Jeremy their dinner up at the house brought them and the big kettle down to the bonfire and they made tea over the fire, a feat that always fascinated the city kids. They had tea on the beach and passed around a bag of candy to share. The farm hands shed some of their hardness at these times. They weren't too proud to like sing songs and candy and ghost stories as the sun went down. The addition of the Poldark children gave the kids even more reason to be young themselves and have fun that way. The boarders often had so little childhood when they were small acting like children was an enjoyable novelty. Ross led the boys back. Dem led the girls with a pit stop to bring Julia and Jeremy back to Prudie at the house. The Poldarks monitored bedtime. Older kids were often so lax about everything. Ross and Dem made certain they brushed their teeth. Made sure they showered and the kids were behaving, no bullying or fights. They each slept in the dorm; Ross with the boys, Dem with the girls, apart from the kids but on the premises like Garance used to. A bed, desk with two chairs off the main dorm. Some kids could not sleep or had nightmares and were allowed to ring a bell if they needed Ross or Dem. They listened, dispensed wisdom and even hugs if they were deemed necessary. Most nights were quiet. The Poldarks often wished to help more children at a time but, in truth, ten girls and ten boys was just enough. Enough to be a group, not so many that they couldn't get to knew them individually and not so many that the Poldarks would have to hire more assistance. In the same way Ross and Dem only trusted each other to keep watch when they slept on the streets they did not want to trust others with their boarders at night. Dem in particular with her experience at the Home felt the more staff one had, meant you were in danger of losing your own control over the place. Three months of staying the night with other people's children rather than their own and sleeping apart from each other was a way of insuring that the Poldarks knew first hand that everyone was alright. Any problems between the kids would be dealt with directly by them. They wanted that responsibility, Palmier was their farm and they would look after their charges themselves. Jud and Prudie looked after Julia and Jeremy overnight when the dorms were in use for the season and Dem spent most of the day looking after them before getting some drawing in and joining the farm hands in the afternoon. The boarders had breakfast, three hours of school with Mrs. Kemp and Brose, lunch and then worked the farm. Both of them, Ross and Dem, as they lay in their beds considered what the princess said. Someone had told Prince Charles about Palmier Farm. Lady Armitage or Lord Falmouth might have put a word in... They were in royal circles, sometimes... The visit would be a boon. Other people might take an interest. That they were able to make their idea come true was remarkable. It took money, of course. They were fortunate to have Uncle Charles' advice, Pascoe's sharp eye, always able to put them in the way of a generous awards from charitable trusts and help them stay funded. Money made the world go round but, more importantly, making Palmier Farm a reality was a labor of love. It took love, for each other, from the friends in their life that helped them, to make it work. If Ross and Dem could give back even a tenth of the love the Poldarks had received when they lived on the road to other kids it would please them. Ross and Dem worked to give that love to others twenty kids at a time. And someone, somewhere had told the Prince of Wales about them. Someone in high places had heard of Palmier Farm and their mission. They were making a difference and someone important had done them a good turn... Apart in their different beds Ross and Dem began to drowse. In recent years Ross and Dem became able to sleep soundly, as a luxury, not needing to guard each other or watch their pitch, from exhaustion, working themselves to the point they slept like one drugged. The Poldarks still kept the street habits they acquired in Paris and it helped them to mind the dorms for they both were able to sleep light, with intention, at the ready to wake and assist the kids if necessary. The Poldarks slept light and all at Palmier Farm and Nampara slept well.

Five weeks later a package arrived at Palmier Farm. Ross left it in the parlor intrigued to see it was from Nice in France but too busy to open it right away. The return address and the name, "Odier" rang no bells. The busy tasks of a Palmier work day kept Ross and Dem busy. After they wished Julia and Jeremy good night Ross and Demelza made ready to go to the dorms for the night and Ross suddenly remembered they had a package they didn't open yet. "What is it, Ross? Do we know an 'Odier'?" Ross held it in his arms and still managed to shrug. "I have no idea. It isn't heavy..." They left it in Ross' room, the twin of Dem's in the girls dorm, and they minded their charges as they readied for bed. At lights out, Dem popped over to the boys dorm to see what came in the mail. Ross looked up from his ledger books at his desk, working at balancing the numbers. "Ah! I was about to come get you!" smiled Ross. "I don't think I can stand the suspense anymore!" Ross slit the tape with a knife and opened it to find masses of tissue paper crumpled and stuffed under a recent issue of Paris Match. As he lifted the magazine out he saw a small photo of them all standing with Princess Diana and Desdemona by the Palmier sign, in the corner of the cover. It was not the main story but pictures of Princess Diana were often in the magazines in many different countries. "Oh! There's an artic..." Ross recoiled with a jolt as he felt around in the box. "My ivers!" said Ross. Dem looked on, mystified. She only ever heard Prudie say that. "Dem!" he said in astonishment. She gasped as Ross pulled out a cheap, felt cowboy hat with its tatty string still threaded through it to keep it on one's head. "Oh!" Dem fell upon the box and felt a paper package, wound round and round with tissue paper and sellotape. Ross looked on, holding his breath as she attacked the wrappings, clawed it apart for she knew what it had to be. "Judas! Oh my God! Ross!" Dem hoisted, with shiny eyed glee, the ceramic cat she had won at the fun fair in Marseilles. They were so frozen from delight and happiness they didn't read Garance's letter at first. They let it wash over them. Their flight from Marseilles after their abduction and the shooting had traumatized the Poldarks but they only ever had good memories of the growers compound and the women's dormitory where Garance and all of the women looked after them with so much loving care. They had not seen these silly trinkets in years and now they were holding them in their hands. Ross and Dem had no expectation of ever seeing them again. They stared at them, holding them and not thinking at all of the time afterwards when they were so frightened. They only had the good times, this dinky hat and silly cat brought all the good memories back and were proof that Garance still looked out for them. They set them on Ross' desk and Dem opened the magazine to the small article about Princess Diana visiting an organic farm that boarded at risk youths in Cornwall. Ross picked up the paper folded there. It was scented with Chanel No. 5 and as Ross opened it they saw a lipstick kiss was kissed upon the paper in the same vibrant red Garance always wore next to her signature. "Oh..." they sighed. Ross read,

Mes petits poulets,

Imagine my surprise to see my little friends, married and grown up in my gossip paper! And looking after your own farm and your own chicks too. I kept your prizes after the compound was sold. They made buildings there now. The dormitories and the fields are all gone. I keep a quiet life in Nice and many of our good friends did become citizens and bring their families to France. You must keep these in your dormitories for the luck. Even after I told all who came for the season about the hat and the cat and my little chickens and they gave many smiles. Even the Lady Di comes to see your farm! I am so proud of you!

Kiss your babies for me and know that you all have a friend in Nice.

Garance

They hung the hat in Ross' room in the boys dorm and set the cat in Dem's room in the girls dorm. They often slept light, to make sure they could wake if they were needed. This night they opened their eyes to see their carnival prizes just once more, and as the night deepened, Ross and Dem each slept with a smile on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All You Need Is Love, The Beatles 1967
> 
> Love, love, love  
> Love, love, love  
> Love, love, love
> 
> There's nothing you can do that can't be done  
> Nothing you can sing that can't be sung  
> Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game  
> It's easy  
> Nothing you can make that can't be made  
> No one you can save that can't be saved  
> Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time  
> It's easy
> 
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love, love  
> Love is all you need
> 
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love, love  
> Love is all you need
> 
> There's nothing you can know that isn't known  
> Nothing you can see that isn't shown  
> There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be  
> It's easy
> 
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love  
> All you need is love, love  
> Love is all you need
> 
> All you need is love (all together now)  
> All you need is love (everybody)  
> All you need is love, love  
> Love is all you need  
> Love is all you need(repeat)  
> Yesterday  
> (Love is all you need)  
> Oh  
> Love is all you need  
> Love is all you need  
> Oh yeah  
> Love is all you need  
> (She love you, yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> (She love you, yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> (Love is all you need)  
> (Love is all you need)
> 
> The Beatles are a constant in the various "Ross and Dem" 33&1/3 stories. This song, with its declaration that love is all one needs is an underpinning of this tale of Hansel and Gretel Ross and Dem. It also alludes to their beginnings, learning the ropes of harvesting from the women of the growers compound as the French national anthem starts the song.


	73. Save The Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amends

Lady Harriet Warleggan, sister to the Duke of Leeds, gave a sigh of satisfaction. Her family was aghast that she would choose, of her own volition, to marry a tradesman, so to speak, and declined to attend their wedding. The Duke and Duchess of Leeds, brother and sister in law of the bride had not traveled from London to attend the nuptials, denying Harriet the sign of family affection and approval she had hoped for. The distance between their stations in life seemed too great, at that time. George's grandfather had been a blacksmith! For all his wealth, considerable to be sure, he was not their sort. Harriet was able to take the long view and as the years passed, the attitude of her own people began to thaw. The gamble George took, seen as foolish by many, to reorient his business dealings into renewable energy had paid off. George routinely had the ear of Prince Charles who was passionate about natural conservation and organic agriculture. Warleggan wind farms and development of solar energy panels, after much argument and zoning fights were taking off in a big way and it was clear that the future was very bright. Yesterday George received a knighthood, for his ongoing commitment to natural energy and balancing modern energy needs with protection of wildlife and land management. This stilled the tongues on both sides of their families. Her side could admit that he had risen like a phoenix into the inner workings of government and the Crown that they had not considered possible for someone only a generation removed from common stock. The Warleggans over believing George's drastic reorganization of their business concerns was possibly due to brain injuries he might have gained in a serious accident that befell him in Italy some years prior. Nicholas and Cary Warleggan, his father and uncle, were initially tempted to have George deemed unfit to lead the company by a psychiatric evaluation. His strange insistence on divesting themselves of mineral extraction, a surefire revenue juggernaut, and pour resources into pie in the sky daydreams of solar and wind power having any chance at success let alone be profitable was unnerving. But George persevered. This day, Harriet lay back in the soft cushions of their 18th century canopy bed, lay a lazy arm behind her head and smiled. Her husband had proved them all wrong, made their families eat their words and even change their tune. Her brother was to give a cocktail evening in honor of his brother in law next week, a familial connection he'd ignored with scorn when she wed. George, in the sweet optimism he so often showed, the earnest determination she'd so often seen in him, that conviction in him that he could make a difference, that made her fall in love and want to marry George had said, "Just you wait and see darling, we'll show them. They'll see that loving the earth can be profitable too..."

George had accountants, personal as well as corporate. There were some things he preferred to administer himself. Still enjoying a glow of satisfaction that his knighthood had, finally, made his father and uncle relax their misgivings over steering their business concerns to renewable energy. The prestige of it meant little to George personally. It helped legitimize his ongoing campaign to bring healing solutions to man's energy needs rather than robbing Peter to pay Paul in the rush to bankrupt the earth, causing destruction to the wildlife, water and land through pollution and stubborn insistence on the use of fossil fuels. That is what gave him satisfaction in the acknowledgment of his work by the Crown. Britain would lead the way forward into a brighter future. A world in balance in which the needs of man would not bring harm to the earth and her delicate web of nature. And after a delicate dance, British Petroleum had made a first gesture at a working partnership. Once they saw the shrewd aspects of Warleggan's ability to head off every roadblock and sabotage they threw at him, they came to realize that he was not some soft, weak willed hippie. George zigged when they zagged and outfoxed their attempts with a steel core of ruthlessness that matched their own. He was a formidable and serious player in an up and coming field that could not be bought off or kneecapped with ordinary bribes, threats or dirty tricks. This was a businessman who was worth working with. If renewable energy made more profits with less outlay of expense than mining, there would be pickings for all and BP was not so foolish as to turn their nose up at getting their share. Things were looking up. At his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up in his customary willingness to work with honest effort and no affectation, he wrote his checks for the funding of two specific causes within the Warleggan Charitable Trust. He did not leave it to others. He felt it a matter of honor to personally write and sign the documents rather than a faceless stamp and words typed in bloodless efficiency. He owed it to the recipients, though he obscured his role in their funding. As a legal entity, The Vulpes Fund was directly funded by Warleggan Charitable Trust but decoupled from the umbrella of that organization. It was a blameless, charitable grant awarded to two concerns George held dear. The Il Porto Wildlife Oasis, a tract of Italian land held in trust on behalf of the Italian government by Count Hugo Schön and Lord Falmouth and The Palmier Farm, a small concern in Cornwall that boarded at risk youths in an agricultural setting, utilizing organic farming and giving the young teens job skills as well as education and recreation on privately owned oceanfront property. In this, George felt he could continue to give back to the area of Italy that opened his eyes to a better way of conducting his business acumen, weaponized for good one might say, and make amends for his negative behavior before his eyes had seen the light. Literally. George had lain, for two days, in pain so excruciating he began to hallucinate. But he had passed into a different state of being at some point. He began to believe that the sun itself was beginning to heal him even as he lay broken on floor of the valley. He saw a fox, not the scurrying animal of the mountain path he had fallen from. It was a totem, a warning, a supernatural apparition that ran forward in a wild eyed desperation to inform George that these injuries were the result of his unruly greed and destructive impulses. It came forward, neither dog nor vixen, a spirit fox that defied notions of gender. This fox ran forward in a fug of sharp musk and placed its bloodied paw upon George's brow. A smudge of blood from a paw print that obliterated George's sight. He went blind for his eyes were not necessary to see what the fox demanded he see. A pause and the universe split in two before his inner, psychic eye in a belching rupture that spewed forth a vomit stream of watches clocks jewels knives silver coins copper blood whiskey bottles perfume razor blades beads liquid insects hammers thin nails the feet of birds eagle feathers claws machine parts chrome teeth hair shards of pottery skulls the ruins of our time the debris by a lake the gleaming beer cans rust sable menstrual fur, a catalog of horrors, the snake, the lizard, the insect eye the huntsman's green obedience. Quick, in raw time, serving stealth, greed, slumber of sloth in the slow destruction of Gaia our Earth Mother, grinding warm forests into restless lumber, descriptions of natural disaster, of his making, the caged beast, the holy center, a garden in the midst of the city and the blood of the fox seeping into George's psyche. The message, the message, the message...

George had cause to remember and reflect upon these ideas, this vision that the fox bestowed, as he began a slow period of recuperation. He was the caged beast. He was imprisoned in a destructive cycle of greed and turned his back on the earth. The garden, our earth. The city... Can they be reconciled? Can the profit in the ledger mend the earth? Fuel the city, heal the earth? Can these things be possible? George as his bones knit back together, as he went through physical therapy to walk upright, as he healed, he came to the conclusion that he had lost his way. His persecution of the hippies in a valley he had not even purchased yet was proof that he had let his thirst for money and his insecurity over his station in life lead him down a destructive path. It was imperative that he change. Not only for his own good but that of the earth itself. The need for energy was paramount, but at what cost? Was there a better way? Is there a better use of his own energy that could service the responsibility the fox laid upon him?

Yes.

George worked in anonymity, avoided bringing his name into the funds that he gave the Poldarks and the land trust that Hugh Armitage had persuaded his uncle to create. He had been dressed down, in a public square, by Armitage over his business intentions and harassment of the kids in the folly. It did nothing more than anger him enough to try and burn the folly to the ground in retaliation. In his zeal for revenge he scaled the climb on a rainy day and fell down the cliff that gave him his epiphany as well as his injuries. He had too much shame over the incident to seek any of them out directly. He made amends in secret, hoping that the balance would count in the end. He never failed to mention to well connected people the visionary foresight of the Italian government protecting their ancient forests and the wildlife who resided there with formal protection from logging and destructive mineral extraction, sparing the land as well as the water and the livelihoods of the surrounding fishing villages. He often mentioned the value of supporting small businesses and organizations who gave help and support to children who fell through society's cracks. George mentioned Palmier Farm to the Prince of Wales himself, by name, as an example of a modest young couple giving at risk children a helping hand through agriculture and education. The shame of his previous behavior was strong. He had too much embarrassment over his interactions in Italy before his accident to dare to seek speech with any of them. But George gave the priorities they held dear support and wished, with all his heart, that the fox approved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save The Children, Marvin Gaye 1971
> 
> I just want to ask a question  
> Who really cares?  
> To save a world in despair  
> There'll come a time, when the world won't be singin'  
> Flowers won't grow, bells won't be ringin'  
> Who really cares?  
> Who's willing to try to save a world  
> That's destined to die  
> When I look at the world it fills me with sorrow  
> Little children today are really gonna suffer tomorrow  
> Oh what a shame, such a bad way to live  
> All who is to blame, we can't stop livin'  
> Live, live for life  
> But let live everybody  
> Live life for the children  
> Oh, for the children  
> You see, let's save the children  
> Let's save all the children  
> Save the babies, save the babies  
> If you wanna love, you got to save the babies  
> All of the children  
> But who really cares  
> Who's willing to try  
> Yes, to save a world  
> Yea, save our sweet world  
> Save a world that is destined to die  
> Oh, la, la, la, la, la, la, la  
> Oh, oh dig it everybody
> 
> Vulpes is "fox" in Latin
> 
> The Thought-Fox, Ted Hughes 1957
> 
> I imagine this midnight moment's forest:  
> Something else is alive  
> Beside the clock's loneliness  
> And this blank page where my fingers move.
> 
> Through the window I see no star:  
> Something more near  
> though deeper within darkness  
> Is entering the loneliness:
> 
> Cold, delicately as the dark snow  
> A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;  
> Two eyes serve a movement, that now  
> And again now, and now, and now
> 
> Sets neat prints into the snow  
> Between trees, and warily a lame  
> Shadow lags by stump and in hollow  
> Of a body that is bold to come
> 
> Across clearings, an eye,  
> A widening deepening greenness,  
> Brilliantly, concentratedly,  
> Coming about its own business
> 
> Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox,  
> It enters the dark hole of the head.  
> The window is starless still; the clock ticks,  
> The page is printed.
> 
> George's visions in his reckoning with the Spirit Fox are excerpts from Jim Morrison's "New Creatures" poem published in 1970, with some extra stuff tucked in, here and there, on my part. The image of a fox, so real seeming in a dream that it could be smelled as he stumbled forward to put a desperate, bloody paw print on a plain sheet of paper was the dream image that inspired Ted Hughes to write The Thought-Fox, the celebrated poem from his award winning collection The Hawk In The Rain.
> 
> Foxy, a vixen fox cub that Vali Myers kept as a pet, lived as Vali's animal companion for fourteen years. Vali mourned Foxy as one would a child and laid her to rest in a coffin with the inscription on a brass plate: "Foxy 1965-1979 Only beloved daughter of Vali Myers"
> 
> Vali read an excerpt of a journal at the beginning of the 1965 film, "Vali, Witch of Positano":  
> "This note in a little book that I wrote when I was still in Paris, a long time before I ever came to Italy. 'And in a valley I will live with my white cat, Mimi, and a donkey and an owl and a little red fox. And there will be little frogs and lizards and wee bats and I shall grow tiger lilies and green and mauve orchidies with chocolate coloured spots and I shall be at peace there, away from all the world.'"
> 
> Gianni Menichetti, who came to live with Vali Myers in Positano, Italy was her companion for 30 years. Myers tattooed a fox paw print on his forehead and he remained in Positano even after she returned to Australia where she lived until her death in 2003. Absent any updated information, Gianni still lives in the folly to this day. The valley was declared a wildlife preserve.


	74. Rêves secrets d'un Prince et d'une Princesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After

Objects made of tin are customary as a traditional gift at the tenth anniversary year. Lord Falmouth was not in a position to declare his tenth anniversary to the world at large but under his clothes he wore two dog tags on a chain, stamped metal tabs similar to the ones soldiers wore for identification. And Brose, of course, wore their corresponding mates. In this, had they considered the similarities, they had taken a leaf from Ross and Dem's book. Their proof was secreted around their necks, under their clothes. They drew the line at matching tattoos but the contented happiness of having the other man's name near was a comforting sentimentality that they both valued. Time had passed as time does. The Enyses were the parents of Sarah and Sophie. The Poldarks had Julia, Jeremy and all rejoiced at happy announcement that both Dem and Caroline were expecting again. Hugh was engaged to be married to Ilaria, a servant in his uncle's villa. Having entered the Lord of the Fal's employ as a kitchenmaid and become a sort of second in command to the cook as time passed, the hearty laughs and pleasant chats between the master's nephew and house maid gave way to furtive looks of longing which blossomed into a passionate relationship. That a onetime kitchenmaid in a grand villa had captured the heart of a gentry squire of ancient name was seen as the height of romance in Italy and an utter folly of a scandal by some in England. Many of the upper class in Cornwall did titter over one of the most eligible bachelors in the county "throwing himself away" on a kitchenmaid. That his mother and uncle, who certainly had a responsibility to secure the next generation of their illustrious family continuing in a respectable manner, _allowed_ Hugh to marry the girl was seen as bizzare. Lady Armitage would not hear a word against the match. The girl was sweet tempered, and won her son's heart. She conducted herself with her head held high for her son's judgement was sound and correct. They ruled here. Through their behavior others would come to accept these situations as they did. Lord Falmouth would not hear a word against the match. Hugh and Ilaria loved each other and were happy together. The Lord of the Fal had come to know, at first hand, what a great treasure of life it is to love and be loved in return. The wedding would be a private affair, in Italy. That did not denote a small amount of guests. Ilaria's family was a large, close knit clan and Hugh's family was a tight knit group of friends who had remained together through thick and thin. A guest list that contained the Nampara Poldarks, the Trenwith Poldarks including Verity's husband, their son and his two children from his previous marriage, the Enyses, children all in tow, all in Italy to celebrate Hugh and Ilaria becoming husband and wife. Francis playfully complained that Hugh's nuptials had left him the odd man out and he was now obliged to find a wife of his own. 'From your mouth to God's ears!', thought Charles. The longer Francis remained a bachelor the more likely wagging tongues might look for reasons as to the delay. They might even accuse his son an having unnatural inclinations, being not of the marrying kind, you know how folk gossip, one can't have that sort of talk!

The wedding party lasted into the night with dancing and a huge, rustic feast that cook supervised as if Hugh and Ilaria were her own son and daughter for having worked so closely with the bride for so many years and known the groom from the age of nine made it nearly so. Children rocketed about, playing in all directions. A band of Roma musicians kept up a steady stream of lively music that compelled people to dance and added to the merriment of the party. At length the bride and groom said goodbye to their guests. Count Schön, sensitive to the idea that the bride might like to have a wedding night in a room and abode she had not worked in as a maid, offered the happy couple the use of his castle and from there Hugh and Ilaria would honeymoon in Paris and Rome before returning to Uncle's villa and beginning their married life. That night, after all guests departed or retired to bed the Lord of the Fal lay in bed on his back, nude save for two dog tags hanging on a chain at his neck near Brose who lay near, his arm around him similarly attired. Happy after a beautiful wedding and now drowsy and contented with the chains coiled in a loose loop down their necks, seeming to lie as heavy on the mattress as they did upon the bed in the altogether. "So... We've both got our kids wed now..." sighed Lord Falmouth. Brose laughed lightly. " _We_ should be happy..." Lord Falmouth crinkled his eyes in amusement. "Are we not?" he asked, stroking Brose's back lazily. Brose murmured his approval of the backrub. "Yes," said Brose. "In this respect we measure our content by theirs," Brose chuckled and added, "Like proper grown ups!" The bed jiggled from Lord Falmouth laughing on his back. A happy chortle that made Brose smile. There was delight to be had in silliness that could exist between them. Brose enjoyed hearing him laugh, feeling his body near, shaking from laughter. He collected himself with a wistful sigh. "I envy them..." sighed Lord Falmouth. Brose looked to him, the barest movement of his chin tilting up at his chest. "For what?" asked Brose. Lord Falmouth sighed, wistfully. "For being at the beginning of it all..." Brose nodded. He understood that feeling. They shifted position; lay side by side in the relaxed sort of fidgeting of two who know each other well, a hand at a side, a gentle tangle of fingers playing about the other's hand, a cheek near, a forehead that exists to be kissed. "Yes..." Brose's Dutch accent made ordinary words sound a bit magical. "But there is something to be said for maturity. We know not to waste the time we have..." Lord Falmouth closed his eyes, a sudden drowsy feeling of love, of being near and feeling love. "If we had met young, if I had you young..." he began. Brose smiled. "Oh, youth is overrated. We'd have less wrinkles, so what? I have you now. I'm old enough to know what is real. I don't think I was that wise when I was younger..." Lord Falmouth brought his arm up to rest at the back of Brose's head. Brose closed his eyes too and they drew their foreheads close together. "We shall have to make do, I suppose." teased Lord Falmouth. "Being old'uns," he chuckled. "We're getting battered and worn..." Brose smiled. "Not to notice. Blemishes on the person you love are like grace notes adding to a piece of music..." The Lord of the Fal's eyes opened in sudden mirth and Brose opened his as well. They looked at each other. "What a pretty speech." said Lord Falmouth. "You'd best go to sleep or I shall begin to think you're serious." Brose brought his hand to his lover's cheek. "Pretty speeches should always be taken for serious, George..."

"It's a playhouse!" said Julia. The children ran forward. Dem and Caroline, who insisted on climbing trail to the folly, pregnancies be damned laughed to see their children so enchanted by what had been Ross and Dem's former home. Verity turned about at the edge of the fountain bed with the same delighted look of wonder that the children had. "How lovely! How did you know it was here?" Ross, holding Dem's hand, smiled. "We just happened upon it," A brace of folding chairs, carried up by most of the men were set up at the fountain bed. Caroline and Dem were not allowed to carry anything. Andrew and Francis had the picnic food. Dwight carried up armfuls of blankets. Uncle Charles tasked with another picnic basket, was more charmed by the folly than anyone expected for it was the most fantastical hunting lodge he'd ever seen. He was amazed by it. All it needed to make it perfect would be to have one side open to the elements to have a place to clean carcasses. "Uncle Charles," said Dem waving away Ross' insistence that she sit and knowing Charles liked old novelties. "We must see if the gramophone survived!" He perked up at that. "Stap me! Is there a record player!" He hurried to see. Lord Falmouth and Brose brought up the rear. The children were already running around on the hill beyond. Verity's step children, a shade older than the Eynses' and Ross and Dem's children joined in too without self consciousness. Brose set the two chairs he was holding down and looked from one side to the other. The folly, the fountain bed, a weed choked footprint of what had been Demelza's garden plot, the whitewashed wall. He recognized it all from drawings he had seen but the sight of it, standing here, in its scents of flora and fauna, the rustling leaves, birdsong, made him feel very emotional. That Ross and Dem had their married life begin here to some degree touched him deeply. They married in Paris but they made this homestead their own little paradise. Surrounded by beauty in this valley, not running the Paris streets. That they had been happy here and even conceived Julia in this place struck him as wonderful. Lord Falmouth came alongside Brose as did Lady Armtiage. Lady Armitage, not often a physically demonstrative person, lay a gentle hand on Brose's shoulder and walked onward to follow the others. It was brief and she did not make eye contact, but having watched her son marry the day before and seen the love the Poldarks had for each other and their dear friend and mentor, she understood his emotions. It is deeply moving to consider one's children at the height of their happiness. Charles stomped out of the folly, triumphant, with the wind up record player in his arms. "Damme if it isn't a Victrola! What a wonder!"

They lay blankets and rugs in the meadow and dined among the early flowers and butterflies in a cheerful chatter of good friends, happy children, posh vowels, Dutch accent and laughter. Bread and sausage, figs and oranges, wine and lemonade, packets of chocolate biscuits and a bag of sweets victualed the party as the wind up record player played the hits of an earlier day. The air had a freshness of spring and a sun soaked warmth that made the grass and flowers a subtle perfume. Lady Armitage, who drew a sharp line at relieving one's self out of doors, made her goodbyes and was accompanied back down the valley by Ross to her waiting driver. The rest were willing and even took a furtive enjoyment in the rustic accommodation, something forbidden that was allowed. The girls, managed by Dem, Caroline and Verity thought it was funny. The male grown ups with Jeremy, Andrew Jr. and James in tow had the similar amusement over it and a queer sort of pride, wandering into the woods and believing themselves as a group of rough and ready mountain men in a secret collusion, taking a stab at being wild creatures. They washed their hands at the river. Talk and reminiscing of younger days ensued, in England, in Holland. Charles and Brose were surprised to hear that Lord Falmouth had never hunted frogs or toads, never even held one. Lord Falmouth was not in a hurry to rectify this but Brose and especially Charles considered it a rite of every boy. "Aren't they, well, slimy to hold?" asked Lord Falmouth. Brose chuckled. "Not really, the toads are often quite dry and cool to the touch. They were often on land near the edges of the dykes rather than in the water..." Charles agreed. "Why we still have toads at Trenwith that were brought for our pond some ancestors back! A handsome breed..." Francis chimed in at the mention of them, a part of his and Verity's childhood that was happy to think back on. They often kept tadpoles and minnows in big glass jars, to watch them close up and then restore them to the pond. "Yes! They're different to the local ones," Verity nodded. "They run," she said."They don't hop like the local ones..." Charles nodded. "Brought in special from Hampshire! Yellow stripes on 'em with a loud old, 'CROAK!'," at this the children fell into hysterics to hear a man such as Charles croak like a frog. He grinned. "Ross! There's toads about aren't there?!" Ross nodded. "Yes, closer to the swimming hole..." Charles and Brose grinned a mischief that Lord Falmouth found devious looking. Charles bellowed, "Come now children, Lord Falmouth has never held a toad! We must hunt up a toad! To waste an opportunity on good ground such as this would be criminally foolish!" Brose cackled as Lord Falmouth pulled a face over being made to hold a toad. An amusing laugh that even the Poldarks hadn't heard out of their friend before and they set off, the children running after Ross and Dwight who led the way in a chattering excitement and the rest following to see the Lord of the Fal meet his first toad.

They came to the swimming hole, much as Ross and Dem had first seen it. The flowers were still growing, tightly closed, awaiting the summer when veils of bright trumpet flowers festooned the cliffs around this pretty place. Verity sighed at the sight and Demelza and Caroline squeezed hands, silently acknowledging where the closeness of their friendship had begun. Ross called over his shoulder, "Uncle Charles! I should look to the left by those rocks! I'm sure there are toads about..." The romping of the kids and the roaming of the men got further into the distance as Verity, Caroline and Dem sat on a flat plane of rock and awaited the result of their hunt. "The poor thing!" laughed Caroline. "I hope the toad has a good sense of humour!" It was a bright, blue sky day and all around them was fresh and lovely. The laughter of the children and bravado of the men grew fainter as they watched them continue on. Dwight exclaimed and it seemed victory was at hand but that one got away, to the delight of the children and the relief of Lord Falmouth. The girls giggled upon their rock like mermaids awaiting sailors and the sun felt pleasant, not too hot as the children and the men entertained from afar, crouching and darting, bent at the waist, outwitted by quick moving toads and enjoying the sport.

Toads were not slimy, or at least this one wasn't. It was Francis who secured the dapper little, dark green thing with a black speckled back. Lord Falmouth chuckled a defeat as he sat on the rock by the ladies and held it in his hands to let them and the children investigate it with a gentle rub of a finger and close appraisal of its fiery red and gold eyes, its little hands curled around one of Lord Falmouth's fingers, patient and calm as it sat quite contentedly and allowed the others to admire it. Brose sat near and smiled a satisfaction at his friend holding his first toad. "Didn't I say toads were capital beasts! Capital! A gent and no mistake!" laughed Charles. Francis and Verity shared a smile. Father was enjoying not only the fact that they were invited to the Armitage wedding, a coveted invitation for all the tittering and whispers over Hugh's choice of bride, but genuinely enjoying being a part of Ross and Dem's sprawling, bohemian, life. That he devised a fun, madcap toad hunt to the folly visit unbidden and quite spur of the moment was their complicated Father at his best. He had entered Ross and Dem's world and managed to find his own place within it too.

They packed up. The journey back down to the cars had to be conducted in daylight. There was concern from their friends that the daybed would be too unkempt from disuse for the Poldarks to use, too narrow to hold them all. Ross and Dem demured, suggested there would be no trouble. The daybed was given a cleaning and a new mattress in anticipation of this visit. Ross and Dem would lay their children to sleep in the folly tonight. They intended to sleep underneath the stars. Julia and Jeremy waved goodbye to their friends for they would remain with Mama and Papa tonight at the folly. Ross and Dem hoped to be able to show their children a phenomenon they had come to love in the valley, as the time of the year was quite the same. With buckets of water at the ready and dusk's approach Ross and Jeremy, Dem and Julia, relieved themselves in the woods and returned to the folly before it got too dark. Two oil lamps gave steady light indoors and candles sat flickering, turning the empty shelves at the walls into lanterns too, holding the light upon the plains of wood and letting it glow forward. Ross brought a lamp outside and the Poldarks sat with their children, two at their sides, one in utero, on a blanket by the rear of the folly. It grew darker and then the children sighed with happiness. In their threes and fours. In their tens and twenties. Then in their hundreds and thousands, green/yellow lit fireflies came up from the woods and darted their lights across the meadow. Ross put an arm around his son and daughter and Demelza put an arm around him and the Poldarks watched the fireflies dancing and playing in the meadow under a night's sky glowing blue from so many visible stars at the dark ridge of the trees silhouettes in the distance. A private concert of light that pleased Ross and Dem to be able to share with the girl they created here, the boy whom they sparked into life in Nampara and a new little friend who joined them in the sleepy, mystic pool of Dem's womb, here, there and everywhere, a dream and a person both.

Jeremy and Julia were tucked into the fresh sheets and covers of the daybed, their brows kissed by their parents and wished goodnight in the flicker of the candlelight. Ross took Dem's hand and went back out to the blanket that had been laid for watching the fireflies, the meadow now dark with only a few darting stragglers who stayed behind the mass of others who retreated back to the woods. They lay down and Dem snuggled close as Ross spooned around her. They heard each other's breathing and the nighttime sounds of Il Porto. The children were tucked in bed safe and sound in the folly and their little friend, nestled inside of Dem, would sleep rough with them in the wild Italian valley that they loved. A confluence of all Ross and Dem's adventures. The meeting of all their disparate worlds. Two for the road. They found each other, they loved each other, grew that love, held it close and brought it forward, eternal.

"Night, Sweetness." said Ross.

"Night, Ross." said Dem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rêves secrets d'un Prince et d'une Princesse as performed by Anne Germain and Jacques Revaux 1970
> 
> Je ne savais pas que tu m'aimais  
> En êtes-vous certain désormais?  
> Il aura suffit d'un anneau d'or  
> Il aura fallu qu'on nous jette un sort
> 
> Mais qu'allons-nous faire, de tant de bonheur  
> Le montrer ou bien le taire?
> 
> Tous deux nous ferons de notre vie  
> Ce que d'autres n'ont jamais su faire  
> Nos amours resteront légendaires  
> Et nous vivrons longtemps après la vie
> 
> Mais qu'allons-nous faire, de tout cet amour  
> Le montrer ou bien le taire?
> 
> Nous ferons ce qui est interdit  
> Nous irons ensemble à la buvette  
> Nous fumerons la pipe en cachette  
> Nous nous gaverons de pâtisseries
> 
> Mais qu'allons-nous faire, de tous ces plaisirs?  
> Il y en a tant sur Terre
> 
> Nous ferons ce qui est interdit (nous irons)  
> Nous irons ensemble à la buvette (nous serons tous deux des)  
> Nous fumerons la pipe en cachette (nous irons ensemble à la buvette)  
> Nous nous gaverons de pâtisserie (nous ferons tout ce qui est interdit)
> 
> Mais qu'allons-nous faire, de tous ces plaisirs?  
> Il y en a tant sur Terre  
> Nous ferons bien sûr des tas d'enfants  
> Nous vivrons ensemble  
> Un conte de fée charmant
> 
> Secret Dreams of a Prince and a Princess
> 
> I knew not that you loved me  
> Do you know it now?  
> A golden ring told me so  
> There must be a spell on us  
> But what will we do with so much happiness?  
> Let it be seen or keep it a secret?  
> Together we will make our life  
> As no others have done  
> Our love will be a legend  
> And we will live long in memory  
> But what will we do with so much love?  
> Let it be seen or keep it a secret?  
> We'll do whatever is forbidden  
> We'll go to the buffet  
> We'll smoke a pipe in secret  
> We'll stuff ourselves with pastries  
> But what will we do with so much joy?  
> The world is full of it  
> We'll have a great many children  
> And live happily ever after
> 
> Ilaria was not named in the chapter "You Can't Always Get What You Want" but she is the maid translating the cook's scolding of Ross and and laughing with Hugh when cook takes aim at him over the fight with George Warleggan at the Red Lion Club.
> 
> Hugh, stalwart and loyal friend to Ross and Dem in this tale has leapt over his Grahamsian notoriety and rather than coveting Demelza has a kitchenmaid of his own to have and to hold from this day forward and live happily ever after with too.
> 
> There are allusions in this final chapter to chapter four, "Sweets For My Sweet". Lord Falmouth and Brose are lying on the bed with their dog tags the way Ross and Dem lay spent after a hot bath and too much cake with their rings in the Enyses' villa. In that chapter Dwight chides Caroline for wanting to give the Poldarks a rich cassata cake saying, "If they get more empty sweets in them you'll certainly make Dem fatten up! She'll fall pregnant if she gets anymore nourishment than they already do! Can you imagine the two of them with a baby up there!?"  
> Ross and Dem; successful commercial artists, proprietors of Palmier Farm, and proper grown ups, return to the folly and have "their babies up there". They tuck their children in for the night in the daybed and return to their wild ways, sleeping rough, out of doors, with yet to be born Clowance.  
> The story ends here but, as in Currant Bun, the fairy tale happy ending decrees that Ross and Dem's children are born in book order, all grow to adulthood and the early deaths of other characters do not happen.
> 
> "The Open Road" will house other stories about our buskers. Young adventurers, goo goo eyed hippies and their Nampara life. I really can't let go of these two. This story made me very happy.
> 
> Thank you for reading "Because The Night". The two buskers are no longer homeless. "Hansel and Gretel", Ross and Dem now reside in our hearts.


	75. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs used for "Because The Night (Or, Two Homeless Buskers) chapter titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a Spotify playlist provided by kind reader Sweet Melissa:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Exmo3OSbJDoFmuMaU5CqJ?si=pdHE1iELRTKXFnHH8dltRg

You're So Vain, Carly Simon 1972

You're The Cream In My Coffee, Annette Hanshaw 1928

Sweets For My Sweet, The Drifters 1961

For The Love Of Money, The O'Jays 1974

Hot Fun In The Summertime, Sly And The Family Stone 1969

Sleeper, John Cale 1985

Teach the Children, Crosby, Stills and Nash 1970

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones 1965

All Along The Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix 1967

When The Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin 1971

Had To Cry Today, Blind Faith 1969

Ave Maria, trad, Franz Schubert 1825

Song To The Siren, Tim Buckley 1970

Dreamboat Annie (Reprise), Heart 1976

Cat's In The Cradle, Harry Chapman 1974

As Tears Go By, Marianne Faithfull 1965

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, Edith Piaf 1956

How Do You Feel?, Jefferson Airplane 1967

Magic Carpet Ride, Steppenwolf 1968

Come Sail Away, Styx 1977

La Wally, written by Alfredo Catalani in 1892, as sung by Wilhelmina Wiggins Hernandez 1981

Hard Days Night, The Beatles 1964

Gimme That Wine, Jon Hendricks 1965

Iron Man, Black Sabbath 1970

I've Seen That Face Before(Libertango) , Grace Jones 1981

The Harder They Come, Jimmy Cliff 1972

Paint It Black, The Rolling Stones 1966

Police On My Back, The Clash 1980

Midnight Rider, The Allman Brothers Band 1970

Moonlife, Dali's Car 1984

Gaspard de la Nuit, 1.Ondine, Maurice Ravel 1908

Versatile, Claude Bolling with Jean-Pierre Rampal 1975

Sally Go Round The Roses, The Jaynetts 1963

To Have And To Hold, Depeche Mode 1987

Know Who You Are At Every Age, Cocteau Twins 1993

Vincent, Don McLean 1971

Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel (Motiv I) , From the motion picture soundtrack Tři oříšky pro Popelku , Composer: Karel Svoboda performed by Prague Symphony Orchestra(FOK) 1973

You Can't Always Get What You Want, The Rolling Stones 1969

To Sir With Love, Lulu 1967

John Barleycorn, Traffic 1970

Perfect Circle, R.E.M. 1983

Breezin' Along With The Breeze, Josephine Baker 1927

Boys Keep Swinging, David Bowie 1979

Let's Go To Bed, The Cure 1982

Like An Angel, Duran Duran 1981

Wear Your Love Like Heaven, Donovan 1967

La Vie En Rose, Grace Jones 1977

No One Is To Blame, Howard Jones 1986

Always And Forever, Heatwave 1977

Speeding, The Creatures 1989

The Downtown Lights, The Blue Nile 1989

Dali's Car, Dali's Car 1984

Money, Barrett Strong 1959

Sailing, Christopher Cross 1980

Whistle While You Work, Adriana Caselotti 1937

The Weight, The Band 1968

Splish Splash, Bobby Darrin 1958

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, The Police 1981

Thank you, Led Zeppelin 1969

S-s-s-single Bed, Fox 1976

Begin The Beguine, Artie Shaw 1938

Stay Awhile, The Bells 1971

Penthouse and Pavement, Heaven 17 1981 

Laughter And Forgetting, David Sylvian 1986

Art School, The Jam 1977

The Letter, The Box Tops 1967

The Morning Fog, Kate Bush 1985

All You Need Is Love, The Beatles 1967

Save The Children, Marvin Gaye 1971

Rêves secrets d'un Prince et d'une Princesse, From the motion picture Peau d'âne (Donkey Skin) as performed by Anne Germain and Jacques Revaux 1970

**Author's Note:**

> Because the Night, Patti Smith Group 1978
> 
> Take me now baby here as I am  
> Pull me close, try and understand  
> Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe  
> Love is a banquet on which we feed
> 
> Come on now try and understand  
> The way I feel when I'm in your hands  
> Take my hand come undercover  
> They can't hurt you now,  
> Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers  
> Because the night belongs to lust  
> Because the night belongs to lovers  
> Because the night belongs to us
> 
> Have I doubt when I'm alone  
> Love is a ring, the telephone  
> Love is an angel disguised as lust  
> Here in our bed until the morning comes  
> Come on now try and understand  
> The way I feel under your command  
> Take my hand as the sun descends  
> They can't touch you now,  
> Can't touch you now, can't touch you now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers ...
> 
> With love we sleep  
> With doubt the vicious circle  
> Turn and burns  
> Without you I cannot live  
> Forgive, the yearning burning  
> I believe it's time, too real to feel  
> So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers ...
> 
> Because tonight there are two lovers  
> If we believe in the night we trust  
> Because tonight there are two lovers ...  
> Because the night belongs to us
> 
> I've used the term, 'busker', over and over, assuming it's well known enough a phrase. A busker is a street performer who hopes for money from passersby. In the 33&1/3 story 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road?', Elizabeth insults a different (main?) Ross and Dem having come upon them having made love all night in the Long Field. Seeing soil on Ross' forearms, soil on Dem's knees, grass stuck all over them, both of them bringing their guitars back inside, snooty (AND INTENSELY JEALOUS) Elizabeth tells them they need to clean themselves because they "look like a pair of homeless buskers." That's a stem plucked from that story and placed into this one. This 'Hansel and Gretel' Ross and Dem really are homeless buskers.


End file.
